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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://www.archive.org/details/essentialsofaestOOraym 


FIG.   1.—    THE   DESCENT   FROM  THE  CROcS,"  BY  RUBENS. 
See  pages  l6g,  193,  260,  279,  284,  290,  304. 
Frontispiece. 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF 
ESTHETICS 


IN 


MUSIC,  POETRY,   PAINTING,  SCULPTURE 
AND  ARCHITECTURE 


GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND,  L.  H.  D. 


PROFESSOR   OF   /ESTHETICS  IN   THE   GEORGE    WASHINGTON   UNIVERSITY 
FORMERLY   PROFESSOR   IN    PRIKCETON    UNIVERSITY 


AUTHOR  OF  A  SYSTEM  OF  COMPARATIVE  AESTHETICS  AS  PRE- 
SENTED IN  THE  FOLLOWING  VOLUMES:  "ART  IN  THEORY,"  "THE 
REPRESENTATIVE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  FORM,"  "POETRY  AS  A  RE- 
PRESENTATIVE ART,"  "PAINTING,  SCULPTURE.  AND  ARCHITEC- 
TURE AS  REPRESENTATIVE  ARTS,"  "  THE  GENESIS  OF  ART-FORM," 
"RHYTHM  AND  HARMONY  IN  POETRY  AND  MUSIC,"  AND  "PRO- 
PORTION AND  HARMONY  OF  LINE  AND  COLOUR  IN  PAINTING, 
SCULPTURE,   AND   ARCHITECTURE" 


NEW  YORK 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

£be  IRnicfcerboc&er  press 

1909 


Copyright,  1906 

BY 

•  JEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


"Cbc  lkntcftcrbocfter  press.  (Hew  jgorfc 


PREFACE. 

'THE  object  of  this  book  is  to  determine  for  the  reader, 
if  possible,  the  qualities  causing  excellence  in  the 
higher  arts,  and  to  increase  his  appreciation  of  them. 
The  volume  has  been  prepared  by  request  for  readers 
whose  time  is  too  limited  to  study  the  minutiae  of  the 
subject,  and  for  teachers  who  need  a  text-book.  Many 
extended  comments  upon  the  different  historic  theories, 
schools,  and  methods  of  art,  and  many  analyses,  explana- 
tions, classifications,  arguments,  and  suggestions,  which 
seemed  indispensable  to  completeness  of  presentation 
when  I  was  writing  the  work  of  which  this  is  a  compen- 
dium, will  not  be  found  in  these  pages.  With  this  ma- 
terial omitted,  however,  together  with  all  that  might  be 
termed  merely  speculative  or  controversial,  it  is  believed 
that  enough  has  been  included  to  accomplish  the  object 
of  the  undertaking.  The  phenomena  of  the  arts  of  the 
highest  class  have  been  traced  to  their  sources  in  material 
nature  and  in  the  human  mind;  the  different  arts  have 
been  shown  to  be  developed  by  exactly  similar  methods ; 
and  these  methods  have  been  shown  to  characterise  the 
entire  work  of  artistic  imagination,  from  the  formulation 
of  psychical  concepts  to  that  of  their  most  physical  ex- 
pressions in  rhythm,  proportion,  and  harmony.  Conjointly 
with  these  subjects,  the  effects  of  all  the  arts  together 
upon  everything  that  makes  for  culture  and  for  humanity 
have  been  considered  in  themselves,  as  well  as  in  their 
relations  to  religion  and  to  science,  to  both  of  which  art  is 
somewhat  allied,  and  yet  in  such  ways  as  to  make  it 
important  that  the  three  should  be  differentiated. 

Washington,  D.  C,  GEORGE    LANSING    RAYMOND. 

November  ax,  1906. 


The  word  cesthetics  is  traceable  to  a  work  termed  "  /Esthetica,"  pub- 
lished in  Germany  in  1750,  by  A.  G.  Baumgarten.  The  word  was  derived 
from  the  Greek  od6rir]rix6's  meaning  "  fitted  to  be  perceived,"  and  is  now 
used  to  designate  that  which  is  fitted  to  the  requirements  of  what  philo- 
sophers term  perception  ;  in  other  words,  fitted  to  accord  with  the  laws, 
whether  of  physiology  or  psychology,  which  make  effects  appealing  to  the 
mind  through  the  organ*?  of  perception — i.e.,  through  the  senses — satisfactory, 
agreeable,  and,  as  we  say,  beautiful.  If  such  effects  need  to  be  "  fitted  " 
to  be  perceived,  they,  of  course,  need  to  be  made  to  differ  from  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  presented  in  nature.  That  which  causes  them  to  differ 
from  this  is  art.  Esthetics  is  the  science  of  the  beautiful  as  exemplified  in 
art.  The  latter  has  to  do  with  the  processes  through  which  a  sight  or  a 
sound  may  be  "  fitted  to  be  perceived  "  ;  the  former,  with  the  effects  after  it 
has  been  put  through  these  processes.  One  cannot  be  artistic  without  being 
able  to  design  and  produce  ;  he  may  be  cesthetic,  when  able  merely  to  appre- 
ciate and  enjoy  the  results  of  design  and  production. 

The  German  term  for  the  science,  which  some  have  tried  to  introduce 
into  English,  is  cesthetic.  But  this  term,  except  when  employed  as  an 
adjective,  seems  to  be  out  of  analogy  with  English  usage.  According  to  it, 
the  singular  ending  ic,  as  in  logic  and  music ,  commonly  designates  some 
single  department  in  which  the  methods  of  the  science  produce  similar  re- 
sults. The  plural  ending  ics,  as  in  mathematics ,  physics,  mechanics,  and 
ethics,  commonly  designates  a  group  of  various  departments,  in  winch 
similar  methods  produce  greatly  varying  results.  The  many  different  de- 
partments both  of  sight  and  of  sound  in  which  can  be  applied  the  principles 
underlying  effects  that  can  be  "  fitted  to  be  perceived,"  seem  to  render  it 
appropriate  and  important  that  in  English  the  science  treating  of  them  should 
be  termed  cesthetics. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Nature,  Art,  and  Fine  Art    .....        1-15 

Introduction — Art  is  a  Method — Artlessness  and  Art  Illustrated — 
Differing  Not  as  Originality  from  Imitation,  nor  as  the  Natural 
from  the  Unnatural — But  as  an  Immediate  Expression  of  Natural 
Instinct  from  that  of  Human  Intelligence — Art-Products  Not 
Creations  but  Rearrangements  of  Nature — And  also  Results 
that  are  Distinctively  Human — The  Fine  or  Higher  Arts — 
Distinguished  from  Others  by  Belonging  Most  Finely  and  Dis- 
tinctively to  Nature — Therefore  Emphasising  Natural  Appear- 
ances— Form  Essential  to  the  Higher  Arts — Different  Classes  of 
these — Study  of  Nature  Essential  to  Success  in  Producing  them 
— Arts  that  are  Most  Finely  and  Distinctively  Human  Address  and 
Express  Intellect  through  Sound  or  Sight — Human  as  Distinguished 
from  Animal — Expression  as  Developed  from  Possession  of  Human 
Vocal  Organs  and  Hands — The  Higher  Arts  are  also  in  the  Most 
Fine  and  Distinctive  Sense  Made — How  to  Class  Landscape- 
Gardening,  Decoration,  Dancing,  Pantomime,  Elocution,  and 
Dramatics — The  Humanities-  -External  Products  Necessitated  in 
Music — Poetry — Painting  and  Sculpture — And  in  Architecture. 

CHAPTER  II. 
Beauty      .........     16-38 

There  are  Certain  Limitations  in  the  Sights  and  Sounds,  the 
Thoughts  and  Emotions,  and  the  External  Products  with  which  Art 
Has  to  Deal — The  Sights  and  Sounds  must  Have  Interest,  Charm, 
Beauty — Beauty  as  Attributed  to  Form  as  Form — To  Form  as  an 
Expression  of  Thoughts  or  Emotions — To  Both  these  Sources  Com- 

v 


VI  CONTENTS 

PAGF 
bined — Examples — Complexity  of  Effect  Characteristic  of  Beauty 
— In  Sounds — In  Lines  and  Colours — Besides  Complexity,  Har- 
mony of  Effect  upon  the  Senses  is  Essential  in  Beauty  ;  Produced 
through  Like  or  Related  Vibrations  in  Tones  and  Colours — - 
Through  Like  or  Related  Divisions  of  Time  or  Space  in  Rhythm 
and  Proportion — Unity  of  Effect  upon  the  Brain  Necessary  to 
Beauty — Mind  Affected  Irrespective  of  the  Senses — Senses  Affected 
from  the  Mind-side — Complexity  even  in  Form  Recognised  and 
Analysed  by  the  Mind — Imagination  Frames  an  Image  as  a 
Standard  of  Beauty — Mind  is,  therefore,  Affected  and  Active  when 
Beauty  is  Recognised,  Exemplified  in  Music — In  Poetry — In  Arts 
of  Sight — What  is  Meant  by  Harmony  of  Effects  upon  the  Mind 
in  Music  or  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — Further  Remarks  on  Com- 
plexity and  Unity — Definition  of  Beauty — What  it  Leaves  Unex- 
plained— Applies  to  Natural  as  well  as  to  Artistic  Forms — To  Arts 
of  Sound  as  well  as  of  Sight — Relation  of  this  Definition  to  Other 
Definitions — Taste — Its  Cultivation. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Artistic  Mental  Action,  as  Distinguished  from 

that  in  Religion  and  Science    .         .         .     39-58 

That  which  is  Expressed  in  Art — The  Play-Impulse  as  Described 
by  Schiller,  Spenser,  Brown — Relation  of  the  Art-Impulse  to 
Excess  of  Life-Force  and  to  Imitation — To  Spiritual  Force — To 
Inspiration — The  Conscious  and  Subconscious  Spheres  of  Mind  ; 
Memory — Hypnotism — Trained  Automatic  Skill— Subconscious 
Mathematical,  Logical,  and  Musical  Proficiency — Religious  In- 
spiration, Scientific  Investigation  and  Artistic  Imagination — 
Differences  between  Religion  and  Art — Art  can  Influence  for 
Good  Religious  Thought  and  Life — Differences  between  Science 
and  Art — The  Main  Work  of  Science  Conducted  in  the  Conscious 
Mental  Region  ;  that  of  Art  Equally  in  the  Subconscious — 
Illustrations — The  Man  of  Imagination  and  of  None — Subconscious 
Menial  and  Imaginative  Action  Is  not  Irrational,  though  it  is 
Rapid  and  Emotional — Connection  between  Artistic  Mental  Action 
and  Temperament — Artists  Are  Men  of  Sentiment. 


CONTENTS  Vll 

PAGE 
CHAPTER  IV. 

Artistic    Results    as    Determined    by    Tempera- 
ment, Training,  Practice,  and  Skill  .     59-67 

How  the  Artistic  Differs  from  the  Scientific  Mind — Some  Unfitted 
by  Nature  to  Become  Artists — The  Effect  of  Education  in  Training 
Ability  to  Use  what  has  been  Stored  in  the  Mind — Ability  to  Use 
this  Depends  on  the  Physical  Power  of  the  Brain — This  can  be 
Developed  by  Practice — This  Development  can  Extend  to  that 
which  Involves  the  Possession  of  Genius — Training  Affects  the 
Quality  of  Subject-Matter  as  well  as  of  Style — The  Ability  to 
Give  Expression  to  Subconscious  Inspiration  which  Characterises 
Genius  is  also  Due  to  Skill  acquired  by  Practice — Subconscious 
Powers  can  be  Cultivated  through  Training  the  Conscious,  as  in 
the  Case  of  Memory — Of  Critical  Ability — The  Degree  of  Work  is 
apt  to  Measure  the  Degree  of  Worth — Any  Development  in  the 
Mind  may  Contribute  to  Artistic  Development. 

CHAPTER  V. 
Artistic  Form  and  Significance   ....     68-78 

Review  of  the  Thought  in  Preceding  Chapters — Reproduction  of 
Beauty  Necessitating  Attention  to  both  Form  and  Significance 
—  Meaning  of  the  term  Form  in  Art — Of  the  term  Significance — 
The  Necessity  for  Giving  Due  Consideration  to  Both — Regard  for 
Form  and  Disregard  of  Significance  in  Painting — In  Sculpture, 
Architecture,  Music,  and  Poetry — How  Far  the  Artist  must 
consciously  Regard  claims  of  Significance — Regard  for  Signifi- 
cance and  Disregard  of  Form  in  Poetry  and  Painting — In  Architect- 
ure— In  Music — Regard  for  Form  and  for  Significance  need  Not 
be  Antagonistic — Reason  for  Applying  to  the  Higher  Arts  the 
term  Representative. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Art  as  Representative  rather  than   Imitative 

of  Natural  Appearances     ....   79-108 
Representation    Contrasted    with    Imitation — Co-ordinated   with 
Requirements     of     Imagination — Of     Sympathy — Representation 
versus  Imitation  in  Music — Representation  in  it  of  Intonations  of 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Speech — Of  Natural  Humming  and  of  Surrounding  Sounds — Repre- 
sentations of  Nature  in  the  Sounds  and  Figures  of  Poetry — In  its 
General  Themes — Representations  of  Nature  in  Painting  and 
Sculpture — While  Sometimes  Imitative,  these  are  Always  Repre- 
sentative— Shown  in  the  Results  of  the  Study  of  Values — Of  Light 
and  Shade — Of  Shape  and  Texture — Of  Distance,  and  the  Classic 
and  Impressionist  Line — Of  Aerial  Perspective — Of  Lineal  Perspec- 
tive— Of  Life  and  Movement — Explaining  Occasional  Lack  of 
Accuracy — Same  Principles  Applied  to  Sculpture — Representation 
rather  than  Imitation  in  Primitive  Architecture,  as  in  Huts,  Tents, 
etc. — Architectural  Perspective  as  Applied  by  the  Greeks — Explain- 
ing Differences  in  Measurements  of  Similar  Features  in  the  Same 
Building — Differences  in  Measurements  of  Corresponding  Features 
in  Different  Buildings — Representation,  Not  Imitation,  the  Artist's 
Aim  in  Reproducing  Forms  in  Architecture. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Art  as  Representative  rather  than  Communica- 
tive of  Thoughts  and  Emotions         .  109-129 

Artistic  Treatment  does  Not  Increase,  and  may  Diminish  the 
Communicative  Qualities  of  a  Product — Art  Involves  Communica- 
tion through  Using  or  Referring  to  Natural  Appearances  ;  i.e., 
through  Representing  these — -Representation  of  Thoughts  and 
Emotions  through  Sustained  and  Unsustained  Vocal  Sounds — 
Used  respectively  in  Song  and  in  Speech — Music  does  Not  Com- 
municate, but  Represents  Underlying  Tendencies  of  Mental  Pro- 
cesses— Analogous  to  Natural  Processes — Freedom  of  Imaginative 
Inference  Stimulated  also  in  Poetry,  which  should  Represent 
rather  than  Communicate — Illustration — Same  Principle  Appli- 
cable to  Whole  Poems — The  Moral  in  Poetry  is  Represented — 
Visible  Arts  Represent  Thoughts  and  Feelings — Paintings  and 
Statues  are  Ranked  according  to  the  Quality  of  the  Significance 
which  they  Represent — Illustrated  in  Pictures  of  Flowers  or 
Fruit— Of  Natural  Scenery — Of  Portraits  and  Human  Figures — 
Architectural  Representation,  and  How  it  is  Related  to  Musical — 
Representative  Character  of  Foundations,  Walls  and  Roots  — Of 
Constructive  Designs  and  General  Plan — Communicative  Effects 
of  Such  Representation. 


CONTENTS  IX 

PAGE 
CHAPTER  VIII. 

Art  as  Representative  rather  than  Presenta- 

tive  of  the  personality  of  the  artist  i3o-i4o 
Relation  of  Art  to  the  Artist — Art  Emphasises  the  Fact  that 
Natural  Factors  are  Used  for  Expression — This  Fact  Reveals  a 
Spirit  Capable  of  Expressing  Thoughts  and  Emotions — Why  High 
Art  Uses  Forms  Other  than  those  belonging  to  the  Artist's  Own 
Body — Connection  between  the  Creative  in  the  Divine  and  in  the 
Artist — Both  Necessitate  Representation — Representation  of  Spirit 
and  of  the  Subconscions  Nature — Connection  in  Art  between  Per- 
sonal and  Sympathetic  Effects  —  Explanation  —  How  Art  can 
Represent  Appearances  as  they  Affect  the  Individual,  and  yet  as 
they  Affect  All — Owing  to  Artist's  Sympathetic  Temperament — 
What  is  Genius — Its  Effects  Representative  of  the  Individual,  and 
yet  of  Men  in  General. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Different  Arts  as  Representing  Different 

Phases  of  Mental  Conception    .         .  141-154 

The  Art  Used  in  Expression  is  Often  Determined  by  the  Thought 
or  Emotion  to  be  Expressed — Form  of  Expression  Appropriate  for 
Each  Stage  of  any  given  Experience — Physical  Thrill  and  Vocal 
Expression  Leading  to  Music — Definite  Opinions  and  Verbal 
Expression  Leading  to  Poetry — Conflicting  Opinions  Leading  to 
Oratory — Contemplation  of  Facts  as  they  Appear  Leading  to 
Painting  and  Sculpture — Planning  and  Rearranging  Leading 
to  Architecture — Relations  of  External  Influence  and  States  of 
Consciousness  as  Represented  in  Each  Art — Mental  Contents  and 
Influence  from  Without  Compared  to  Ice  on  Water  flowing  into 
an  Inlet — Conditions  Corresponding  to  Music,  Poetry,  Painting, 
Sculpture  and  Architecture — Testimony  of  Physics — Largest  Nerve- 
Movement  in  Music,  Less  in  Poetry,  Less  still  in  Colours,  Least  in 
Lines — Nerves  Are  Directly  Conscious  of  Vibrations  in  Sound,  as 
in  Thunder,  but  Not  of  Vibrations  in  Colours — This  Fact  Illus- 
trated Mythologically  and  Medicinally — Mental  Facts  Accord 
with  what  has  Preceded — The  Indefinite  is  Represented  in 
Inarticulated  Music  ;  the  Definite  in  Articulated  Poetry — Differ- 
ence in  Representative  Effects  of  Words  and  Tones — Is  a  Differ- 


X  CONTENTS 

PAGE 
ence    between    Visualising    Thought    and    Not    Visualising    it  — 
Illustrations — Non-imaginative    Effect   of    Poetry   that   does    Not 
Suggest  Sights — Non-success  of  Poetry  Too  exclusively  Musical. 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Different  Arts  as  Representing  Different 

Phases  of  Mental  Conception — Continued  755-176 

Persuasion  and  Oratory — The  Conditions  of  Mind  Represented  in 
the  Arts  of  Sight — In  Landscape  Gardening — In  Painting — The 
Different  Conditions  Expressed  in  Poetry  and  in  Painting — Bearings 
of  this  Fact  upon  Poetry — Theory  of  Lessing — Objection  to  the 
Theory — Importance  of  the  Theory  Illustrated  in  Poetry — Other 
Examples — Applied  to  Methods  of  Poetic  Description— By  Talfourd 
— Crabbe — Wordsworth — Tennyson — Some  Subjects  Unfit  for 
Paintings — Others — Allegorical  Paintings — Same  Subjects  Possible 
to  Poetry  and  Painting,  if  Treated  Differently — Painting  can 
Suggest  More  Movement  than  Sculpture — And,  on  Account  of 
Colour,  More  Variety  in  the  Number  and  Sizes  of  Objects  ; 
Also  More  Minuteness  and  Triviality — Architecture  as  Originated 
— As  Influenced  by  Methods  of  Painting  and  of  Sculpture — 
Deterioration  on  account  of  this — Recapitulation  with  Reference 
to  Forms  of  Representation  in  Arts  of  Sight — Correspondences 
Between  Architecture  and  Music — Conclusion. 

CHAPTER  XL 

Differences  in   the   Same   Art    as  Representing 
Different   Degrees  of  Conscious  or    Sub- 
conscious Mental  Action      .         .         .  177-194 
The  Balance  between   Influence    upon   the   Conscious   and   Sub- 
conscious Mind — Religious,  Scientific,  and  Artistic  Conceptions — 
Expressed  in  Idealism,  Realism,  and  Idealised  Realism — In  the 
Good,  True,  and  Beautiful  ;  the  Sublime,  Picturesque,  and  Brilliant  ; 
the   Grand,    Simple,    and  Striking — The  Sublime — Illustrations — 
The  Picturesque — The  Brilliant  —  Distinction  between  the  Beauti- 
ful and  the  Brilliant — The  Grand  as  Allied  to  the  Horrible — The 
Simple  to  the  Pathetic — The  Striking  to  the  Violent — True  in  All 
the   Arts — The   Epic — The    Realistic — The    Dramatic — Aim    of 
Epic-Recital — Of    Realistic — Of  Dramatic — Epic  Art-Products— 


CONTENTS  Xi 

PAGE 

Realistic — Historic — The  Historic  Distinguished  From  the  Dra- 
matic— Dramatic  Poetry  :  Lyrics — Dramatic  Character-Painting — 
Genre  Painting — Dramatic  Painting  Proper — Historic  Distin- 
guished from  Dramatic  Sculpture  —  Practical  Object  of  these 
Distinctions. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Representation    in    the    Elements   of    Form,    in 

the  Arts  of  Sound        ....  195-212 

Recapitulation — Necessity  of  Studying  the  Elements  of  Repre- 
sentation— Especially  as  Produced  through  the  Vocal  Organs  and 
Hands  — In  the  Arts  of  Elocution  and  Gesture — Meanings  of  the 
Elements  of  Sound  in  Elocution — Duration  Repiesenting  Mental 
Measurement  in  Music — In  Poetry — Force  Representing  Mental 
Energy  in  Music — In  Poetry — Pitch  Representing  Mental  Aim  or 
Motive — Directions  of  Pitch  in  Elocution — Principle  Further 
Illustrated — Different  Meanings  of  the  Same  Phraseology  when 
Differently  Intoned — The  Same  Principle  Fulfilled  in  Music — In 
Modern  Melodies — Other  Illustrations — In  Poetry — Illustrations 
— Quality  Representing  Mental  Feelings — In  Elocution — Analogies 
in  Nature — In  Music — In  Imitative  Music — Different  Qualities  in 
Music — In  Poetry  ;  Imitative  Effects — Associative  Effects. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Representation    in    the    Elements    of    Form,    in 

the  Arts  of  Sight         ....  213-268 

Correspondences  in  Arts  of  Sound  and  of  Sight — Size  Representing 
Mental  Estimate — This  Fact  and  Effects  of  Significance  in  Beauty 
— Large  Size  and  Nearness— Same  Principles  in  Architecture- 
Resume — Massiveness  or  Touch  Representing  Mental  Energy  in 
Drawing — Painting — Sculpture  —  Architecture  —  Outlines  Repre- 
senting Mental  Motive — Their  Meanings  in  the  Human  Form — 
In  Gestures  of  the  Hands — Fist — Finger — Full  Hand — Closing 
Gesture — Opening  Gesture — Movements  of  Arms — Gestures  In- 
ward and  Outward  —  Dramatic  Gestures  —  General  Actuating 
Motives  Represented  in  the  Gestures — Analogous  Meanings  in 
Natural  Scenery,  of  Curves — Of  Straight  Lines  and  Angles — As 
Indicated  by  a  man's  Use  of  them  in  Landscape-Gardening — In 


Xll  CONTENTS 

PAGE 
Painting — In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Quality  in  Tone  Repre- 
senting Mental  Feeling  Finds  Analogy  in  Colour — Cold  and  Warm 
Colours — Different  Colours  Corresponding  to  Different  Qualities — 
Normal  Tone  and  Cold  ;  Orotund  Tone  and  Warm  Colour — Varied 
Colours  and  Exciting  Effects — Red  and  Trumpet — Examples  from 
Painting — Colours  in  Human  Countenance — In  Sculpture — In 
Architecture — Colours  in  Representing  Distance — Applied  to  Build- 
ings— Mixed  Colours — Black — Black  with  Cold  Colours — With 
Warm  Colours — White  with  Cold  Colours — With  Warm  Colours — 
Conclusion. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Art-Composition       ......  269-296 

Imagination  Necessary  in  Elaborating  as  well  as  in  Originating 
Representative  Forms  of  Expression — Methods  of  Composing 
Music — Poetry — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — Mental 
Methods  in  Art-Composition  Analogous  to  Other  Mental  Methods 
— To  that  in  Classification — How  Art-Classification  Differs  from 
Ordinary  Classification — The  Method  of  Classification  not  Incon- 
sistent with  Representing  the  Artist's  Thoughts  and  Emotions — Or 
with  Representing  Nature — Explanation — Artist  Influenced  by 
Mental  and  Material  Considerations — Methods  of  Art-Composition 
are  Methods  of  Obtaining  Unity  of  Effect — Obtained  in  Each  Art 
by  Comparison,  or  Putting  Like  with  Like — Variety  in  Nature 
Necessitating  Contrast — Contrast  in  Each  Art — Also  Complexity 
— Complement — Order  and  Group-Form — Confusion  and  Counter- 
action—  Principality  and  Subordination — Balance — Distinguished 
from  Complement  and  Counteraction — Principality  in  Music  and 
Poetry — Subordination  and  Balance  in  the  Same — Principality  in 
Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Organic  Form — In 
Music — In  Poetry — In  Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture. 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Art-Composition — Continued  .         .         .  297-319 

Congruity,  Incongruity,  and  Comprehensiveness — Central- Point, 
Setting,  and  Parallelism — In  Music  and  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — 
Symmetry — Repetition,  Alteration,  and  Alternation  in  Music  and 
Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — Massing  in  Music  and  Poetry — Massing 
or  Breadth   in    Painting — Illustrations — In  Sculpture  and  Archi- 


CONTENTS  Xlll 

PAGE 
tecture — Interspersion  and  Complication — Continuity — Music  and 
Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — Consonance — Distinguished  from  Con- 
gruity  and  Repetition — Dissonance  and  Interchange — The  Latter 
in  Painting — Gradation  and  Abruptness — In  Music  and  Poetry — 
Transition  in  Same  Arts — Gradation  and  Abruptness  in  Colour — 
In  Outline — In  Architecture — Progress  in  Painting  and  Sculpture 
— In  Architecture — Completeness  of  this  Analysis  of  the  Methods 
of  Art-Composition. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Rhythm  and  Proportion  ....  320-358 

Rhythm  Not  Originated  by  Art — It  Exists  in  Nature — In  Nerve 
Action — Required  by  the  Natural  Action  of  the  Mind — Elements 
of  Rhythm  existing  in  Speech — How  Developed  in  Metre  and 
Verse — In  Music—  Poetic  Measures — General  Comment — Meaning 
of  Proportion — Result  of  a  Natural  Tendency  to  Make  Like  Meas- 
urements— Manifested  Everywhere — Proportion  in  Nature — An 
Important  Art-Principle — Result  of  Comparing  Measurements  Not 
actually  Made,  but  Possible  to  Make  —  Not  actually  Alike,  but 
Apparently  So — Proportion  Puts  Like  Measurements  with  Like — 
Fulfilling  Principles  in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. — Why  Proportional 
Ratios  must  be  Represented  by  Small  Numbers — How  Larger 
Numbers  may  be  Used — -Rectilinear  Proportions — Of  Allied 
Rectangles — Of  Irregular  Complex  Figures — Must  be  Accom- 
panied by  Outlines  of  Simple  and  Regular  Figures — Proportions  of 
Human  Form  and  Clothing — Countenance — Greek  Type  of  Fac 
Not  the  Only  Beautiful  One — Why  Other  Types  may  Seem 
Beautiful  —  Proportions  of  Human  Body  Indicated  by  Circles  and 
Ellipses — Binocular  Vision — Its  Relation  to  Ellipses — Why  the 
Curve  is  the  Line  of  Beauty — Shapes  of  Vases — Relation  of  Like 
Curves  to  Proportion  Illustrated  in  Curves  of  the  Human  Form. — 
Conclusion. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Harmony  of  Tone  in  the  Arts  of  Sound     .  359-366 

The  Effects  of    Rhythm  and   of    Harmony   Illustrate   the   Same 
Principle — What   Causes   Loudness   and    Pitch    of    Tone — What 


XIV  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Causes  Quality — Musical  Tones  Compounded  of  Partial  Tones 
Caused  by  Vibrations  Related  as  i  :  2,  2:3,  etc. — These  Partial 
Tones  are  Merely  Repeated  in  Scales — And  Chords — Musical 
Harmony  Results  from  Putting  Together  Notes  Having  Like 
Partial  Effects — This  True  of  the  Most  Complex  Arrangements — 
True  of  Poetic  Harmony. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Harmony  of  Colour  in  the  Arts  of  Sight  367-386 

Production  of  the  Colours  of  the  Spectrum — Effect  of  Light  upon 
Colours — Definition  of  Terms — Complementary  Colours — As  Pro- 
duced by  Light  and  by  Pigments — The  After-image  in  Consecutive 
Contrast — Simultaneous  Contrast — All  Colours  Impart  about  them 
Tints  of  their  Complementaries — Principles  Determining  Use  To- 
gether of  Two  Colours — Of  Three  Colours — Of  Four  Colours — Con- 
secutive and  Simultaneous  Contrast  Due  to  Physiological  Action 
of  the  Eye — Correspondences  Between  Ratios  of  Harmonic  Colours 
and  Tones — Owing  to  Minuteness  of  Colour-Waves  Nothing  in 
Colours  Corresponds  to  the  Different  Scales  in  Music — The  Ratio 
of  the  Two  Notes  Forming  the  Most  Perfect  Consonance  in  a  Single 
Musical  Scale — This  Ratio  as  Represented  Among  the  Colours 
— Colour  Harmony  as  Actually  Developed — Not  From  Ratios  Occa- 
sioning Vibrations,  but  from  Analysis  of  Light — The  Field- 
Theory  of  Colour- Harmony — Theory  Based  on  Psychological  Effects 
— On  Physiological  Effects — Tone,  or  the  Predominant  Use  of  One 
Colour,  in  a  Painting — Why  this  may  Fulfil  the  Same  Principle  of 
Harmony  as  the  Use  of  Great  Variety  of  Colour — Colour  Harmony 
Results  from  an  Application  to  Colour  of  All  the  Principles 
Unfolded  in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. — Beauty  in  Art — And 
Suggestion-  —Conclusion. 

Index  .....  391-404 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

1.  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,  by  Rubens       .        Frontispiece 

From   a  photograph.      Mentioned   on   pages   169,  193,  260,  279,  284,  290, 
3°5- 

2.  Effects  of  Distance  on  Magnitude,  Light,  Contrast,  and 

Detail 3 

From   J.   W.   Stiirson's   "  Principles  and   Methods  of  Art-Education." 
Mentioned  on  pages  86,  88,  89,  90,  92,  93.  94,  218,  262,  300,  315,  381. 

3.  Light  and  Shade,  by  Waiter  Crane 19 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  0/  Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  89,  224. 

4.  Pollice  Verso,  by  Gerome 41 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  89,  191,  218,  279,  284,  290,  291, 
300,  302. 

5.  Leaying  for  Work,  by  J.  F.  Millet 61 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  89,  go,  95,  97,  190. 

6.  The  Girlhood  of  the  Virgin  .Mary,  by  Rossetti  ...       71 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  90. 

7.  A  Storm,  by  J.  F.  Millet 91 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  90,  94,  120,  190,  279. 

8.  Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici,  by  Michael  Angelo       .         .       96 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  95,  97,  224,  284,  295,  302. 

9.  The  Soldier's  Return.     Relief  on  Monument  near  Bingen      97 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  97,  225,  242,  279,  284. 

10.  Epitomised  Story  of  Isaac,  Jacob,  and  Esau,  Relief  from 

Baptistry  at  Florence 98 

From  a  photograph  of  engraving.      Mentioned  on  pages  97,  225. 

11.  Cave  of  Elephanta,  India 99 

From  a  sketch  in  water-colour.      Mentioned  on  page  97. 

12.  Chiefs'  Houses,  Kerepuna,  Australia    .....     100 

From  Cassell's  "  Picturesque  Australia."     Mentioned  on  page  99. 

13.  Photographic  Effect  of  Curved  Platform  and  Column  of 

Parthenon 101 

From  The  Architectural  Record.      Mentioned  on  page  102. 

14.  Optical  Illusions  Caused  by  Lines  Arranged  as  in  Pedi- 

ments     ...........     102 

From  the  same.     Mentioned  on  pages  102,  103. 
XV 


XVI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


15.  Photographic   Effect   of  Cornice  Curve  in  the  Maison 

Carree  ..... 

From  the  same,  drawn  by  J.  W.  McKecknie.      Mentioned   on  pages  103 
126,  279. 

16.  Maison  Carree,  Showing  Cornice  Curve 

From  the  same,  drawn  by  J.  W.  McKecknie. 
106. 


Mentioned  on   pages  103 


17.  Jewish  Cemetery,  by  J.  Ruysdael 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  120. 

18.  Card  Players,  by  Caravaggio         .         .      ». 

From  a  photograph  of  engraving.      Mentioned  on  pages  123,  192,  243 

19.  Sculptured  Group  of  the  Laocoon        .... 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  123,  193,  224,  295,  310. 

20.  A  Summer's  Evening,  by  Van  Beers         .... 

From  a  photograph  with   permission  of   C.   T.  Yerkes.     Mentioned  on 
page  123. 

21.  University  at  Sydney,  Australia 

From  Cassell's  "  Picturesque  Australia."      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  252 
310. 

22.  The  School  of  Athens,  by  Raphael       .... 

From   a  photograph   of   engraving.      Mentioned  on   pages  166,  259,  284 
285,  316. 

23.  The  Apollo  Belvedere 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  170,  171,  242,  243,  290. 

24.  Farnese  Hercules,  by  Glycon  the  Athenian 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  214,  215. 

25.  Melrose  Abbey 

From  Fergusson's  "  History  of  Architecture."      Mentioned  on  pages  214, 
215,  219,  261. 

26.  Flying  .Mercury,  by  Giovanni  da  Bologna    . 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  214,  215,  242. 

27.  Church  near  Kostroma,  Russia      ..... 

From  Fergusson's  "  History  of  Architecture."     Mentioned  on  pages  214 
215,  219. 

28.  Temple  of  ^Egina 

From  the  same.     Mentioned  on  pages  98,  219,  223,  225,  251,  252,  279,  290, 
341. 

29.  Houses  of  Parliament,  England,  from  Old  Palace  Yard 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  219,  222,  290. 

30.  Lines  Expressive  of  Storm,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  of  Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  222,  279. 

31.  Lines  Expressive  of  Repose,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  the  same.      Mentioned  on  pages  222,  279. 

32.  Pavilion  of  Richelieu,  Palace  ok  the  Louvre,  Paris  . 

From  Cassell's  "  The  World  and  its  Cities."     Mentioned  on  pages  225 
34i- 


ILL  US  TRA  TIONS 


XV11 


33- 

34- 

35- 
36. 

37- 

33. 
39- 
40. 
41. 
42. 
43- 

44- 
45- 
46. 

47- 
48. 

49- 
50. 
51- 
52. 


Cologne  Cathedr  al 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  225,  251,  252,  261,  279,  290,  293, 
3^  34i. 

St.  Mark's,  Venice •    . 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  222,  225,  252,  279,  293,  296, 
302. 

Marien  Platz,  Munich 

From  Cassell's  "  Chats  about  Germany."      Mentioned  on  page  225- 

The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,  by  N.  Poussin    . 

From   Cassell's  Magazine  0/  Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  193,  234,  236, 
240,  241,  290. 

The  Death  of  Ananias.     Cartoon  by  Raphael     . 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pa^es  169,   193,   234,   236,  240,   243, 
251,  284,  290,  316,  317. 

Sideward  Finger  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.      Mentioned  on  pages  234,  237. 

Reflection 

From  a  drawing  by  Maud  Stumm.      Mentioned  on  pages  235,  241. 

Downward  Closing  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.      Mentioned  on  page  235. 

Downward  Opening  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.      Mentioned  on  pages  235,  238. 

Balanced  Backward  Movement  with  Closing  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.     Mentioned  on  pages  236,  292. 

Pedant's  Proposition  of  Marriage.    Etching  by  D.  Chodo- 

WECKI 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  of  Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  238,  239,  243. 

Upward  Opening  Gesture 


From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.     Mentioned  on  pages  239, 

Upward  Closing  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.      Mentioned  on  pages  239,  242,  292. 

An  Attack 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.     Mentioned  on  pages  241,  243. 

Boy  Surprised   ........ 

From  a  drawing  by  Maud  Stumm.     Mentioned  on  pages  241,  242, 

Tissington  Spikes,  England 

F'rom  Cassell's  "  Our  Own  Country."     Mentioned  on  pages  244,  2 

Repose  in  Landscape  and  Figure,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  0/  Art.     Mentioned  on  page  248. 

Lines  Illustrative  of  Action,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  the  same.      Mentioned  on  page  250. 

Interior  of  Beverley  Minster,  England 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  99,  252,  310. 

Poutou  Temple,  Ningpo,  China       .... 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  99,  279,  280,  296. 


243- 


46. 


PAGE 
226 


227 

229 

231 

233 

235 
235 
236 
236 
237 

238 
239 
239 
241 
241 
245 
247 
249 
266 
280 


X Vlll  ILL  US  TRA  TIO NS 

PAG* 

53.  The  Taj  Mahal,  India 281 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  222,  280,  293,  296,  302. 

54.  The  Transfiguration,  by  Raphael 289 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  242,  288,  295,  298. 

55.  Small  House 291 

From  Palliser,  Palliser,    &  Co.,  Architects,  New   York.     Mentioned  on 
pages  293,  302. 

56.  Willesden  Church,  near  London,  England  ....     292 

From  Cassell's  "Greater  London."      Mentioned  on  pages  293,  302. 

57.  The  Decline  of  Carthage,  by  Turner 309 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  page  308. 

58.  Lines  in  Proportion 337 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  pages  337,  338. 

59.  Lines  Subdivided  to  Indicate  Proportion      ....     338 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  338. 

60.  Type  of  an  Assyrian  Square 338 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  0/ Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  340,  341. 

61.  Chichester  Cathedral,  England 339 

From  Cassell's  "Our  Own  Country."      Mentioned  on  page  340. 

62.  Figures  with  Lines  Subdivided  to  Indicate  Proportion      .     340 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  pages  103,  341. 

63.  Rectangles  in  Proportion 341 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  341. 

64.  Figures  Related  because  Inscribable  in  the  Same  Square  .     342 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  342. 

65.  Figures  Related  because  Inscribable  in  the  Same  Rectangle    342 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  342. 

66.  Relationship  of  Figures  as  Indicated  and  not  Indicated  .     342 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  pages  342,  343. 

67.  Figures  Related  because  Inscribable  in  Figures  in  Pro- 

portion   342 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  343. 

68.  Chateau  de  Randau,  Vichy,  France      .....     343 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  343. 

69.  Walker  Museum,  Chicago  University 344 

From  the  Cosmopolitan  Magazine.     Mentioned  on  page  344. 

70.  Lines  and  Curves  Indicating  Proportions    ....     345 

Drawn   about  a   form   in   Putnam's  "  Handbook   of   Figure  Drawing." 
Mentioned  on  pages  344,  350,  356. 

71.  Costumes  Dividing  Human  Forms  Proportionately      .        .     346 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.      Mentioned  on  page  344. 

72.  Costumes  not  Dividing  Human  Forms  Proportionately       .     346 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.     Mentioned  on  page  344. 


ILL  US  TRA  T10NS  xix 


PAGE 

73.  Front  Face  Divided  Proportionately  by  Lines    .         .         .     347 

Drawn  over  a  face  in  Putnam's  "  Art  Handbook."      Mentioned  on  pages 
345-349- 

74.  Side  Face  Divided  Proportionately  by  Lines       .        .         .     347 

Drawn  over  a  face  in  Putnam's  "  Art  Handbook."      Mentioned  on  pages 
348,  349- 

75.  Facial  Divisions 348 

Drawn  over  a  photograph   in   The  Dramatic  Mirror.      Mentioned  on 
pages  348,  349. 

76.  Facial  Divisions 348 

Drawn  over  a  photograph  in   The  Dramatic  Mirror.     Mentioned  on 
pages  348,  349. 

77.  Circles  Illustrating  Field  of  Distinct  Vision  for  both 

Eyes  together 351 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  351. 

78.  Vases  Outlined  by  Ellipses  and  Segments  of  Circles  .     353 

Drawn    about    forms    suggested     in     Hay's    "  Ornamental     Geometric 
Designs."      Mentioned  on  page  355. 

79.  Building  Enclosed  between  Circles 354 

From  a  drawing.    Mentioned  on  pages  222,  25a,  261,  290,  293,  296,  302,  355. 

80.  Woman's  Form  Enclosed  between  Circles    ....     355 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  355. 

81.  Woman's  Form  Enclosed  between  Like  Circles    .         .        .     356 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  356. 

82.  Circles  Drawn  about  a  Form  in  Graceful  Action       .        .     357 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  356. 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NATURE,    ART,    AND   FINE   ART. 

Introduction — Art  is  a  Method — Artlessness  and  Art  Illustrated — Differing 
not  as  Originality  from  Imitation,  nor  as  the  Natural  from  the  Unnat- 
ural— But  as  an  Immediate  Expression  of  Natural  Instinct  from  that 
of  Human  Intelligence — Art-Products  not  Creations  but  Rearrange- 
ments of  Nature — And  also  Results  that  are  Distinctively  Human — 
The  Fine  or  Higher  Arts — Distinguished  from  Others  by  Belonging 
Most  Finely  and  Distinctively  to  Nature — Therefore  Emphasising 
Natural  Appearances — Form  Essential  to  the  Higher  Arts — Different 
Classes  of  These — Study  of  Nature  Essential  to  Success  in  Producing 
Them — Arts  that  are  Most  Finely  and  Distinctively  Human  Address 
and  Express  Intellect  through  Sound  or  Sight— Human  as  Distin- 
guished from  Animal — Expression  as  Developed  from  Possession  of 
Human  Vocal  Organs  and  Hands — The  Higher  Arts  are  also  in  the 
Most  Fine  and  Distinctive  Sense  Made — How  to  Class  Landscape- 
Gardening,  Decoration,  Dancing,  Pantomime,  Elocution,  and  Dra- 
matics— The  Humanities — External  Products  Necessitated  in  Music — 
Poetry — Painting  and  Sculpture — And  in  Architecture. 

T/"  NOWLEDGE  in  this  world  grows  by  way  of  accre- 
tion. In  order  to  be  sure  about  many  things  that 
we  fail  to  know,  it  is  necessary  to  start  with  a  few  things 
that  we  do  know,  and  to  these  few  add  and  relate  the 
others  in  such  a  way  that  the  connections  between  all 
9hall  seem  inevitable.      In  accordance  with  this  principle, 

i 


2  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

let  us  begin  the  discussions  of  this  volume  with  certain 
facts  concerning  art  which,  if  not  usually  known,  will  at 
least  be  readily  recognised  to  be  true  the  moment  that 
they  are  stated. 

When  we  say  that  a  man  has  an  art  or  the  art  of  pro- 
ducing effects  of  any  kind,  we  mean  that  his  words  or 
deeds  manifest  a  certain  method.  Works  of  art  are  pro- 
ducts revealing  this  method.  They  may  not  reveal  it  to 
a  first  glance;  they  must  to  careful  inspection.  Other- 
wise none  could  distinguish  them  from  other  works  and 
designate  them  by  a  special  term. 

What  is  this  method?  A  child  talks  to  us  with  grace  in 
her  movements  and  sweetness  in  her  voice,  and  we  admire 
what  we  term  her  arthssinss.  A  grown  woman,  an  act- 
ress, perhaps,  produces  almost  identical  effects  that  seem 
equally  pleasing,  but  what  we  admire  in  her  we  term  her 
art.  What  is  the  difference  between  an  absence  of  art 
and  a  presence  of  art,  as  indicated  in  these  two  cases? 

We  cannot  fully  answer  this  question  by  saying  merely 
that  the  child's  actions  appear  to  be  spontaneous  or  orig- 
inal, and  that  the  woman's  appear  to  be  imitative.  The 
very  actions  of  the  child  which  the  grown  person  imitates 
may  themselves  be  imitative.  What  the  woman  does  that 
is  different  from  the  action  of  the  child  is  to  produce 
the  imitations  according  to  a  different  method.  Nor  can 
we  answer  the  question  by  saying  that  the  child's  actions 
are  natural  and  the  woman's  unnatural.  Very  often,  that 
which  most  pleases  us  in  the  woman  is  the  fact  that  her 
actions  are  similar  in  form  to  those  of  nature.  Yet  we 
term  the  result  art  because  we  recognise  that  they  are 
produced  not  according  to  the  method  of  nature — in  this 
case,  of  a  child's  nature, — but  according  to  a  different 
method. 


4  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

In  what  now  consists  this  difference  in  method?  Is  it 
not  in  this?  We  know  that  a  mature  woman's  natural 
instincts  would  never  prompt  her  to  express  herself  in 
the  child's  way;  and  that  therefore  her  childish  words 
and  deeds,  while  expressions  natural  enough  to  a  very 
young  person,  are  not  so  to  one  of  her  age.  They  are 
expressions,  therefore,  of  something  which  nature  has 
presented  to  her,  and  which  she  re-presents  to  us.  As 
the  result,  which  we  term  art,  is  a  combination  of  what 
comes,  in  the  first  place,  from  nature,  and,  in  the  second 
place,  from  a  human  being  exercising  the  distinctive  traits 
of  the  human  mind,  we  may  say  that,  in  this  case  at  least, 
art  is  nature  made  hitman.  The  term  nature,  as  used 
thus,  is  to  be  understood  as  including  not  only  non- 
human  but  human  nature,  so  far  as  a  man's  actions  or 
utterances  are  produced  instinctively,  as  we  say,  and 
therefore  are  not  a  result  of  conscious  human  intelligence 
or  contrivance.  The  term  human  is  to  be  understood  as 
applying  to  every  effect  that  is  produced  as  a  result  of 
conscious  human  intelligence  or  contrivance ;  and  made  is 
to  be  understood  as  including  all  such  ideas  as  might  be 
expressed  specifically  by  terms  like  shaped,  arranged,  ap- 
plied, combined,  reshaped,  rearranged,  reapplied,  recom- 
bined,  or,  to  repeat  the  term  already  used,  re-presented. 

But  is  not  what  has  been  affirmed  of  one  illustration  of 
art  true  in  all  cases?  In  the  first  place,  are  not  all  art- 
products  necessarily  reproductions  of  that  which  nature 
furnishes,  though,  of  course,  in  different  degrees  and 
ways?  A  man  can  absolutely  create  nothing.  He  can 
merely  put  into  new  shapes  and  use  with  new  combina- 
tions and  applications  that  which  already  exists  in  the 
world  about  him.  Every  one  must  have  noticed  the 
unmistakable  absence  of  any  appearances  that  fail  to  re- 


NATURE   AND   ART.  5 

semblc  those  of  the  earth  in  all  attempts  on  the  part  of 
men  to  piclure  spiritual  beings  or  a  place  of  spiritual  ex- 
istence. In  poems  and  dramas,  the  characters  repre- 
sented, although  Homeric  gods  or  Miltonic  angels,  speak 
and  act  in  ways  showing  that  the  artist's  ideas  concerning 
them  have  been  modelled  upon  forms  natural  to  men  and 
women  of  this  world.  Even  in  music  and  architecture, 
the  principle  holds  good,  though  in  a  more  subtle  way. 
There  would  be  no  melodies  if  it  were  not  for  the  natural 
songs  of  men  and  birds  or  for  what  are  called  "the  voices 
of  nature";  nor  would  there  be  buildings  were  there  not 
in  nature  rocks  and  trees  furnishing  walls  and  columns 
and  water-sheds,  to  say  nothing  of  the  innumerable  forms 
suggested  by  the  trunks,  branches,  leaves,  flowers,  and 
other  natural  figures  which  architectural  details  unmis- 
takably imitate. 

In  the  second  place,  is  it  not  true  that  in  all  cases  art 
results  from  influences  that  have  been  exerted  upon 
nature  by  man  as  the  possessor  of  a  human  mind?  A 
choice  specimen  of  a  coral  is  not  a  work  of  art,  because 
it  is  produced  by  a  polyp.  Neither  is  the  universe  as  a 
whole,  nor  anything  in  it  that  merely  grows  to  be  what 
it  is,  because  this  is  attributable  to  the  Almighty. 

In  this  book,  we  are  to  deal  not  with  all  the  products 
of  art,  but  with  a  particular  class  of  them,  to  some  of 
which,  among  other  terms,  that  of  the  fine  arts,  and  to 
all  of  which  the  term  the  arts  is  applied.  These  terms 
indicate  that  those  who  first  used  them  intended  them 
to  refer  to  products  manifesting  particularly  fine  and  dis- 
tinctively artistic  qualities.  What  products  are  those 
which,  in  the  most  fine  and  distinctive  sense,  may  be  said 
to  belong  to  nature,  to  be  human,  and  to  be  made  ? 

First,   what  products  may  be   said  to   belong,   in  the 


6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

most  fine  and  distinctive  sense,  to  nature?  Must  they 
not  be  those,  which,  other  things  considered,  appear  to 
be  the  least  changed  from  the  state  in  which  they  are 
found  in  nature?  As  a  first  step  toward  the  discovery  of 
these,  notice  that  all  possible  art-products  can  be  divided 
into  two  classes — those  in  which  appearances,  whether  of 
nature  or  of  any  kind,  are  not  essential,  and  those  in 
which  they  are  essential.  In  the  former  class  we  may 
place  all  those  compounds  and  constructions,  from  the 
lightest  fluids  and  fibres  to  the  heaviest  instruments  and 
machines,  which  belong  to  what  are  termed,  when  chief 
reference  is  made  to  the  motive,  the  useful  arts ;  when 
to  the  method,  the  operative  or  mechanical  arts ;  and 
when  to  the  effect,  the  technic  or  applied  arts.  In  the 
class  contrasted  with  these — the  class  in  which  the  appear- 
ance or  the  outward  effect  upon  the  eye  or  ear  is  of  chief 
importance — belong  what  are  termed,  when  chief  refer- 
ence is  made  to  the  motive,  the  ornamental  arts  ;  when 
to  the  method,  the  arts  of  design  ;  and  when  to  the  effect, 
the  (Esthetic  arts.  In  a  general  way,  these  arts  may  be 
said  to  include  all  products,  alike  in  kind,  that  range  be- 
tween a  carved  penholder  and  a  palace,  between  a  jew's- 
harp's  humming  and  an  overture.  Of  course,  in  certain 
regards,  the  aesthetic  arts  may  be  as  useful  as  any  that 
are  termed  useful;  but  the  aesthetic  utility  is  always  such 
as  produces  not  a  material  but  a  mental  result,  and  even 
no  mental  result  except  indirectly  through  an  effect  upon 
the  senses. 

In  all  aesthetic  art,  form  is  an  essential  characteristic. 
The  word  is  from  the  Latin  forma,  meaning  an  appear- 
ance, used  in  the  sense  of  an  outward  effect  produced 
upon  the  eye  or  the  ear;  and,  in  this  sense,  is  applied 
especially  to  what  presents  a  definitely  outlined  or  con- 


CLASSIFICATION  OF  ARTS.  7 

crete  effect.  All  art-products,  in  one  sense,  have  form, 
but  only  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appearance  or  out- 
ward effect  is  essential  can  we  say  that  form  is  essential. 

This  statement  implies — what  needs  to  be  noticed  next 
— that  there  are  different  degrees  and  classes  among  the 
aesthetic  arts.  House-painting  cannot  rank  as  high  as 
landscape-painting  nor  masonry  as  sculpture.  What  are 
the  characteristics  of  the  products  for  which  we  are  in 
search — of  products  which,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinc- 
tive sense,  are  those  of  nature?  The  very  phraseology  of 
the  question  answers  it.  They  are  the  products  which 
have  forms  or  appearances  the  most  like  those  of  nature, 
products  which  we  could  unmistakably  define  as  forms  of 
nature  made  human.  Unfigured  silk,  however  orna- 
mental, is  not  one  of  these  products  because  it  is  not,  or 
has  not,  necessarily,  an  appearance  in  any  sense  attribut- 
able to  nature ;  nor  is  a  steam  sngine,  however  elaborately 
its  parts  may  be  mounted  and  polished.  To  have  a  form 
of  nature,  outward  effects  upon  the  eye  or  ear  must  sug- 
gest, like  the  carving  of  a  man's  head,  the  picture  of  a 
tree,  the  dialogue  of  a  drama,  the  bird-trill  of  a  song, 
certain  outward  effects  of  nature  upon  which  they  have 
been  modelled.  Only  to  classes  of  products  containing 
suggestions  like  these  can  terms  like  the  fine  arts  ox  the 
arts  be  applied  by  way  of  distinction. 

That  this  is  so  seems  to  be  universally  recognised  in 
practice  at  least,  if  not  in  theory.  Who  does  not  ac- 
knowledge that  one  characteristic  of  all  great  artists, 
especially  of  those  who  are  leaders  in  their  art,  is  the 
faithful  study  that  they  give  to  nature.  We  may  not 
admire  the  social  customs  of  ancient  Greece  that  allowed 
its  sculptors  frequent  opportunities  to  observe  the  un- 
clothed forms  of  both  sexes;  we  may  shrink  from  believ- 


8  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

ing  the  story  of  a  Guido  murdering  his  model  in  order  to 
prepare  for  a  picture  of  the  crucifixion;  or  of  a  David 
coolly  sketching  the  faces  of  his  own  friends  when  they 
were  put  to  death  amid  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution; yet,  in  all  these  cases,  there  is  an  artistic  lesson 
accompanying  the  moral  warning.  It  was  not  in  vain 
that  Morland's  easel  was  constantly  surrounded  by  repre- 
sentatives of  the  lower  classes;  that  Hogarth  always  had 
his  pencil  with  him  on  the  streets  and  in  the  coffee- 
houses; or  that,  morning  after  morning,  Corot's  canvas 
caught  its  colours  before  the  eastern  sky  grew  bright  with 
sunlight.  Or,  if  we  turn  to  literature,  it  is  not  an  insig- 
nificant fact  that  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries 
who  gave  form  to  the  modern  drama,  as  well  as  Goethe, 
who  records  in  his  "Wahrheit  und  Dichtung  "  the  way  in 
which  he  spent  his  youth  in  Frankfort  and  his  age  in 
Weimar,  were  for  years  the  associates  of  both  audiences 
and  actors  in  city  theatres;  or  that  Fielding,  who  gave 
form  to  the  modern  novel,  was  the  justice  of  a  police 
court.  High  art  distinctively  involves  the  use  of  a  form 
of  nature — a  form  of  this  in  the  sense  of  being  perceptible 
in  the  real  world,  or,  at  least,  of  being  suggested  by  what 
is  perceptible  there. 

Now  let  us  ask  what  arts  can  be  said  to  be,  in  the 
highest  and  most  distinctive  sense,  human.  These,  of 
course,  must  be  those  with  the  production  of  which  men 
associate  the  highest  results  of  human  intelligence.  As 
a  rule,  they  do  not  associate  such  results  with  any  pro- 
duct— no  matter  how  much  it  may  suggest  of  ornament, 
design,  or  aesthetics — which  appeals  to  attention  through 
merely  one  of  the  lower  senses  of  touch,  taste,  or  smell. 
The  arts  addressing  or  expressing  that  in  man  which  is 
most    finely    and   distinctively    intellectual   and   spiritual 


THE   HUMAN  IN  ART.  9 

are  usually  conceded  to  be  those  alone  that  appeal  to 
either  sight  or  hearing. 

But  even  from  these  arts,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  con- 
ditions, those  products  must  be  excluded  which  cannot 
be  clearly  attributed  to  a  human  being  as  distinguished 
from  an  animal.  In  trying  to  determine  exactly  what 
these  products,  and  the  classes  to  which  they  belong, 
are,  it  would  evidently  be  illogical  to  start  by  theorising 
with  reference  to  such  subtle  differences  as  are  dependent 
upon  internal  mental  conditions  or  capacities.  These 
differences  can,  at  best,  be  only  indirectly  inferred. 
Actual  observation  never  starts  with  them ;  and  we 
should  start  where  it  starts,  namely,  with  something 
directly  perceptible,  which  itself  is  the  occasion  of  their 
being  inferred — with  something  belonging,  therefore,  not 
to  the  hidden  psychical  but  to  the  perceptible  physical 
nature.  What  then  are  the  physical  differences — not  all 
of  them  but  those  connected  with  the  reproduction  of 
effects  of  sound  and  sight — which  distinguish  the  human 
from  the  merely  animal  body? 

The  question  is  readily  answered.  They  are  the  vocal 
organs  and  the  hands.  A  man  can  produce  such  varia- 
tions of  intonation  and  articulation  as  to  enable  him  to 
represent  in  a  definite  vocal  form  well-nigh  every  object 
of  thought  and  phase  of  feeling.  He  can,  therefore, 
select  for  imitation  such  sounds  of  nature,  or  can  originate 
such  sounds,  as  are  appropriate  for  expression,  and  he 
can  use  these  as  in  language.  The  bird  can  sing  and  the 
beast  can  roar;  but  neither  can  do  both;  nor  is  there  any 
proof  that  either  is  in  the  habit  of  producing  new  sounds 
in  order  to  indicate  newly  discovered  distinctions  between 
thoughts  or  feelings.  Again,  the  structure  of  a  man's 
hand  is  such  that  there  is  hardly  any  limit  to  the  variety 


IO  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

of  objects  that  he  can  make.  Therefore,  he  can  select 
for  reproduction  such  phases  of  the  products  of  nature 
appealing  to  sight  as  are  appropriate  for  expression : 
and  he  can  so  vary  the  objects  that  he  makes  as  to  cause 
them  to  be  very  differently  expressive.  But  the  animals 
cannot  with  their  mouths,  beaks,  paws,  or  claws  construct 
a  single  written  character  or  picture  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  indicate  clearly  any  particular  thought  or  any  particu- 
lar scene  suggesting  it.  They  can  scarcely  construct  even 
an  implement  or  a  machine  showing  unmistakably  that 
it  was  designed  to  be  a  means  of  accomplishing  an  end 
conceivable  only  as  a  result  of  a  consecutive  and  compli- 
cated mental  process.  Our  general  conclusion  here  must 
be  that  those  arts  are  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive 
sense  human  which,  in  some  way,  are  connected  with  ex- 
pression through  the  use  of  the  human  voice  and  hands. 

There  is  one  further  question  to  be  answered  before  all 
that  is  suggested  in  the  definition  of  art  as  nature  made 
human  has  been  considered.  The  question  is  this  :  What 
products  of  nature  connected  with  expression  through 
the  use  of  voice  or  hands  can  be  said,  in  the  finest  and 
most  distinctive  sense,  to  be  made?  Of  course,  the 
answer  must  be  that  they  are  such  products  as  reveal 
most  clearly  that  they  are  not  the  sole  results  either  of 
material  growth  or  of  mental  impulse;  in  other  words, 
either  of  natural  formation  or  of  natural  human  expres- 
sion through  the  use  of  voice  or  hands.  This  distinction 
will  show  us  why  it  is  that  landscape-gardening  and 
various  forms  of  what  is  termed  decorative  art,  which 
are  more  or  less  subordinated  to  the  methods  of  natural 
formation  in  the  material  world;  and  also  dancing,  pan- 
tomime, oratorical  delivery,  and  dramatic  representation, 
which  are  more  or  less  subordinated  to  methods  of  natural 


ARTS  NECESSITATING  EXTERNAL   PRODUCTS.       II 

expression  through  the  use  of  the  human  body,  are  not 
usually  put  into  the  same  class  as  music,  poetry,  paint- 
ing, sculpture,  and  architecture.  At  the  same  time,  all 
the  arts  just  mentioned  have  many  features  in  common, 
and  any  thorough  treatment  of  the  last  five  must  involve 
some  treatment  of  the  others.  For  one  thing,  they  all 
belong  to  the  class  which  is  termed  "the  humanities." 
That  is  to  say,  they  all  are  arts  through  which  a  man  can 
cause  forms,  otherwise  often  merely  material  in  their  in- 
fluence, to  thrill  and  glow  with  emotion  and  meaning; 
through  which  he  can  show  himself  able  to  breathe,  as  it 
were,  something  of  that  sympathetic  and  intellectual  life 
which  has  already  given  humanity  to  his  own  material 
frame. 

A  few  words  more  may  be  needed  in  order  to  make  clear 
to  the  reader  in  what  sense  it  is  true,  as  just  intimated, 
that  the  particular  arts  of  music,  poetry,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  architecture,  besides  being  developed  from 
natural  appearances,  and  from  methods  of  human  expres- 
sion through  the  use  of  voice  and  hands,  necessitate  a 
product  which,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  sense, 
may  be  said  to  be  made,  i.  e.,  a  product  external  to  one- 
self. Notice  this,  first,  as  exemplified  in  music.  Cannot 
a  man  sing  without  constructing  a  product  external  to 
himself?  Certainly  he  can,  and  so  can  a  bird;  but  if  a 
man  could  do  no  more,  he  could  do  nothing  entitling 
music  to  be  placed  in  a  class  different  from  that  to  which 
elocution  and  dramatic  representation  belong.  A  melody 
is,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  sense,  a  natural  form 
made  human  in  the  degree  alone  in  which  it  is  unmistak- 
ably a  product  of  the  art  of  music.  What  is  such  a  pro- 
duct? A  composition  that  is  a  result  of  labour  and 
practice.     Aside  from  its  usually   involving  an  external 


12  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

writing  in  musical  notation,  it  is  a  development  of  a 
complicated  system  of  producing  notes  and  scales  and 
chords,  not  only  with  the  human  voice,  but  with  numerous 
instruments,  invented,  primarily,  so  as  to  imitate  every 
possibility  of  the  human  voice,  all  these  working  together 
in  accordance  with  subtle  laws  which,  as  a  result  of  years 
of  experiment,  men  have  discovered  and  learned  to  apply. 
Humming  might  be  called  a  form  of  natural  expression, 
therefore,  of  nature  as  manifested  in  a  man;  but  a  sym- 
phony is  more  than  this.  It  is  a  very  elaborate  develop- 
ment of  the  form  in  which  the  man  has  hummed.  It 
involves,  therefore,  especially  in  connection  with  the 
necessity  for  a  written  score  and  for  manufactured  in- 
struments, the  existence  and  elaboration  of  that  which  is 
possible  to  only  an  external  product. 

Similar  facts  are  true  of  poetry.  A  man  like  an  animal 
could  express  his  actual  wants  in  a  few  different  sighs, 
cries,  grunts,  and  hisses.  But  from  these  he  develops, 
in  their  various  forms,  the  innumerable  words  and  phrases 
that  render  possible  the  nice  distinctions  of  language. 
These  words  and  phrases  are  often  freshly  invented  by 
the  poets,  and  the)'  are  almost  always  invented  as  a  result 
of  what  is  recognised  to  be. the  poetic  tendency  latent  in 
all  men.  As  for  poems  considered  as  wholes,  their  metres 
or  rhymes  are  never  produced  as  immediate  subjective 
utterances,  such  as  we  hear  in  ordinary  speech.  They 
are  always  the  work  of  the  imagination,  bringing  together 
the  results  of  experience  and  experiment,  according  to 
the  method  termed  composition.  In  other  words,  even 
aside  from  the  fact  that  they  are  usually  written  or 
printed,  but  necessarily  when  considered  in  connection 
with  this  fact,  they  evidently  involve  the  construction  of 
an  external  product. 


ARTS  NECESSITATING  EXTERNAL   PRODUCTS.       1 3 

Passing  on  to  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture, 
these  all  appeal  to  sight.  How  does  a  man  express  to 
sight  what  is  passing  in  his  mind?  Undoubtedly  by  his 
postures  and  the  gestures  of  his  hands,  feet,  head,  and 
countenance,  and  by  these  as  we  see  him  when  standing 
alone  not  only,  but  when  surrounded  by  other  persons 
and  things.  Postures  and  gestures,  though  never  as 
definitely  intelligible  as  the  sounds  of  the  voice,  are, 
nevertheless,  in  as  true  a  sense  natural  forms  of  com- 
municating thought  and  feeling;  and  may  be  developed 
into  the  subordinate  art  of  pantomime,  just  as  natural 
forms  of  utterance  in  sound  may  be  developed  into  the 
art  of  speech.  But  pantomime  is  no  more  painting  or 
sculpture  than  speech  is  poetry.  It  is  when  a  man  be- 
comes so  attracted  and  charmed  by  the  methods  through 
which  he  naturally  expresses  thought  in  pantomime  that 
he  begins  to  make  an  external  product,  embodying 
thought  through  like  methods, — it  is  then  that  he  begins 
to  work  in  the  sphere  of  the  higher  arts.  Moreover, 
when  he  does  this,  he  does  not  pose  with  his  own  figure, 
as  in  dramatic  representation,  but  he  makes  other  figures 
pose — that  is  to  say,  he  draws,  colours,  shapes,  and  com- 
bines the  different  parts  of  the  figures  of  other  men,  either 
alone,  or  in  connection  with  their  fellows  or  with  objects 
of  nature  animate  or  inanimate.  Besides  this,  too,  very 
often,  without  making  use  of  any  human  figures,  he  draws, 
colours,  shapes,  or  combines  other  animate  or  inanimate 
objects.  In  other  words,  instead  of  conveying  a  thought 
or  feeling  through  a  posture  of  his  own  body,  he  conveys 
it  through  representing  a  posture  in  a  pictured  man's 
body;  and  if  his  conception  have  reference  to  surround- 
ing persons  and  objects,  he  represents  these  latter  as  sur- 
rounding the  pictured  man; — clouds,  rain,  and  a  waste, 


14  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

for  instance,  if  his  idea  be  the  same  as  that  expressed  in 
lines  like  these: 

The  clouds  have  broken  in  a  dreary  rain 
And  on  the  waste  I  stand  alone  with  heaven. 

Lady  of  Lyons  :  Bulwer. 

Or,  if  his  idea  involve  nothing  that  needs  to  be  repre- 
sented by  human  figures;  if  it  be  something  that  could 
be  conveyed  by  his  pointing  to  animate  or  inanimate  ob- 
jects, were  they  present  in  a  certain  location,  then  he 
leaves  the  human  figures  out  of  his  picture,  and  repro- 
duces merely  these  objects — darkness,  rain,  wind,  a  cling- 
ing vine,  and  dead  leaves,  for  instance,  if  his  idea  be  like 
that  expressed  in  the  following: 

The  day  is  dark  and  cold  and  dreary, 
It  rains  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall. 

The  Rainy  Day  :  Longfellow. 

Paintings  and  statues  are  thus  external  products  that  are 
embodiments  of  distinctively  human  methods  of  expres- 
sion. 

All  that  has  been  said  may  be  acknowledged,  so 
far  as  the  statements  are  applied  to  products  of  painting 
and  sculpture.  But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  can  they  be 
applied  to  those  of  architecture?  The  external  character 
of  its  products  is,  of  course,  evident;  but  it  has  other 
characteristics,  which  cause  many  to  doubt  whether,  in 
important  regards,  it  does  not  differ  too  greatly  from 
music,  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  to  admit  of  its 
being  placed  in  the  same  class  with  them.  Under  all 
these  latter  arts,  it  is  said,  there  are  subjective  modes  of 
expression,  like  humming,  speaking,   and  gesturing.      Is 


ARCHITECTURE.  1 5 

it  so  with  architecture?  Some  seem  to  doubt  this.  But 
why?  Architecture  certainly  represents  the  ideas  of  pro- 
tection, support,  and  shelter,  and  these  are  ideas  which 
it  is  by  no  means  impossible  or  unusual  to  represent,  as 
subjectively  experienced,  by  gestures.  But,  it  is  said 
again,  architecture  is  always  developed  from  an  external 
product, — a  dwelling.  But  is  not  the  same  true  of  the 
other  arts?  Artificial  resonant  sounds,  spoken  and  writ- 
ten language,  hieroglyphic  drawings  and  carvings  are 
conditions  that  antedate  music,  poetry,  painting,  or  sculp- 
ture, no  less  than  house-building  antedates  architecture. 
House-building,  moreover,  is  no  less  truly  a  form  of  nat- 
ural expression  than  are  these  others.  As  will  be  shown 
in  Chapter  VI.,  almost  all  the  different  architectural 
styles  of  which  we  know  were  developed  primarily  from  a 
tendency  to  imitate,  in  a  more  enduring  material,  the  ap- 
pearances of  structures  erected  by  the  primitive  man  in 
order  to  give  expression  to  his  nature,  exactly  as  does  the 
bird  or  the  beaver  when  constructing  his  nest  or  his  dam. 


CHAPTER   II. 

BEAUTY. 

Limitations  in  the  Sights  and  Sounds,  the  Thoughts  and  Emotions,  and  the 
External  Products  with  which  Art  Can  Deal — The  Sights  and  Sounds 
Must  Have  Interest,  Charm,  Beauty — Beauty  as  Attributed  to  Form  as 
Form — To  Form  as  an  Expression  of  Thoughts  or  Emotions — To  Both 
these  Sources  Combined — Examples — Complexity  of  Effect  Character- 
istic of  Beauty — In  Sounds — In  Lines  and  Colours — Besides  Complex- 
ity, Harmony  of  Effect  upon  the  Senses  is  Essential  in  Beauty  ; 
Produced  through  Like  or  Related  Vibrations  in  Tones  and  Colours — 
Through  Like  or  Related  Divisions  of  Time  or  Space  in  Rhythm  and 
Proportion— Unity  of  Effect  upon  the  Brain  Necessary  to  Beauty — 
Mind  Affected  Irrespective  of  the  Senses — Senses  Affected  from  the 
Mind-side — Complexity  Even  in  Form  Recognised  and  Analysed  by 
the  Mind— Imagination  Frames  an  Image  as  a  Standard  of  Beauty — 
Mind  is,  therefore,  Affected  and  Active  when  Beauty  is  Recognised — 
Exemplified  in  Music — In  Poetry  —  In  Arts  of  Sight — What  is  Meant 
by  Harmony  of  Effects  upon  the  Mind  in  Music  or  Poetry — In  Arts 
of  Sight — Further  Remarks  on  Complexity  and  Unity — Definition  of 
Beauty — What  it  Leaves  Unexplained — Applies  to  Natural  as  well  as 
to  Artistic  Forms — To  Arts  of  Sound  as  well  as  of  Sight — Relation  of 
this  Definition  to  Other  Definitions — Taste — Its  Cultivation. 

TN  the  preceding  chapter  an  endeavour  was  made  to 
show  that  art  of  the  highest  or  finest  quality  in- 
volves three  things:  first,  a  reproduction  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature,  especially  of  its  sights  and  sounds; 
second,  an  expression  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of 
the  artist;  and,  third,  an  embodiment  of  both  these  other 
features  in  an  external  product  like  a  symphony,  a  poem, 

16 


THE  BEAUTIFUL.  \J 

a  painting,  a  statue,  a  building.  The  question  now  arises 
whether  we  should  not  make  further  limitations  with 
reference  to  the  sights  or  sounds  of  nature  with  which  the 
highest  arts  have  to  deal,  with  reference  to  the  phases  of 
thought  and  emotion  which  they  express,  and  with  refer- 
ence to  that  which  characterises  their  products. 

The  question,  as  applied  to  sights  or  sounds,  suggests 
at  once  that  when  a  man,  not  for  a  useful  but,  in  accord- 
ance with  what  was  stated  on  page  6,  for  an  aesthetic 
end,  reproduces  these,  he  must  do  so  mainly  because 
something  about  them  has  interested,  attracted,  and,  as 
we  say,  charmed  him.  There  is  one  word  that  we  are 
accustomed  to  apply  to  any  form,  whether  of  sight  or  of 
sound,  that  attracts  and  charms  us.  It  is  the  word  beau- 
tiful. We  may  say,  therefore,  that  the  highest  arts  re- 
produce such  outward  effects  of  nature  as  are  beautiful. 
For  a  sufficient  reason  then  did  the  Abbe  Du  Bos  in  1 719, 
in  his  "Reflexions  Critique  sur  la  Poesie  et  la  Peinture," 
first  apply  to  these  arts  the  term  "Les  Beaux-Arts." 
Afterwards,  in  1793,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture 
together  were  taught  in  France  in  an  "  Ecole  des  Beaux- 
Arts,"  and  music  was  added  to  these  when  an  "  Academie 
des  Beaux- Arts  "  was  established.  Poetry  was  left  out; 
but  it  is  always  included  in  what,  in  our  own  country, 
as  well  as  in  France,  is  termed  "  Belles-Lettres."  To- 
day, everywhere,  it  seems  to  be  conceded  that  arts  of  the 
highest  class  should  reproduce  mainly,  at  least,  and  some 
seem  to  think  solely,  such  phenomena  of  nature  as  are 
beautiful.  It  becomes  important,  therefore,  for  us  to 
ask  here,  What  is  beauty? 

All  men  acknowledge  it  to  be  a  characteristic  of  form, 
but  they  differ  in  the  degree  in  which  they  consider  it 
this.     Some,  for  instance,  attribute  it  to  form  considered 


1 8  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

in  itself  alone;  and  there  is  some  justification  for  their 
theory.  As  ordinarily  used,  the  word  beautiful  fre- 
quently applies  to  that  which  exists  in  mere  appearances 
aside  from  any  thought  or  feeling  expressed  through 
them.  One  may  say  that,  to  men  generally,  fabrics  of  a 
single  hue  hanging  in  a  shop-window,  two  or  three  of 
different  hues  thrown  accidentally  together,  and  certain 
figures,  even  rooms,  on  account  sometimes  of  their 
colours,  sometimes  of  their  proportions,  sometimes  of 
both,  are  termed,  and  properly  termed,  beautiful.  When 
so  used,  the  word  does  not  refer  necessarily  to  any  human 
thought  or  feeling  that  men  recognise  as  being  suggested 
through  the  forms  or  by  them. 

At  other  times,  however,  the  word  seems  to  refer  to 
such  thoughts  or  feelings  almost  exclusively,  and  this 
gives  rise  to  the  theory  that  beauty  is  found  in  the  ex- 
pression of  these.  It,  too,  is  a  theory  not  without  justi- 
fication. Let  one  come  upon  a  woman  with  a  deformed 
figure  and  homely  countenance,  dressed  in  most  inhar- 
monious colours,  and  in  a  most  illy  proportioned  room ; 
yet,  if  she  be  engaged  in  the  utterance  of  some  noble 
sentiment,  or  in  the  performance  of  some  sublime  act  of 
charity,  or  of  self-sacrifice,  the  expression  of  the  motive 
in  her  face  and  frame,  together  with  her  surroundings, 
may  be  so  accordant  with  the  demands  of  his  soul  as  to 
transfigure  the  mere  forms,  and  prepare  him  to  believe 
and  to  say  in  the  most  emphatic  way  that  he  has  seen 
what  is  beautiful. 

At  the  same  time,  probably,  most  men  will  be  willing 
to  admit  that  in  the  case  neither  of  the  fabric  nor  of  the 
woman  does  the  beauty  exhibited  manifest  all  the  ele- 
ments capable  of  rendering  it  complete.  They  recognise 
that  the  beauty  of  form   in  colours  or  outlines  could  be 


FIQ.  3.— LIGHT  AND  SHADE.— W.  CRANE. 
See  pages  89,  224. 


19 


20  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

enhanced  by  supplementing  it  with  more  beauty  appeal- 
ing to  the  intellect,  and  that  the  beauty  of  expression  in 
the  deformed  woman  could  receive  a  more  harmonious 
setting  if  accompanied  by  more  beauty  of  colour  and 
outline.  So  far  as  appearances  appeal  to  one's  aesthetic 
nature,  it  is  preferable  to  see  a  beautiful  woman  doing  a 
beautiful  deed,  to  seeing  one  not  beautiful  doing  it.  It 
does  not  seem  to  be  true,  therefore,  that  beauty  can  be 
referred  exclusively  either  to  form,  or  to  significance  of 
which  the  form  is  the  expression. 

Notice  one  or  two  more  illustrations  of  this  fact. 
Queen  Louise  of  Prussia,  the  mother  of  the  first  Emperor 
William,  was  one  whose  form  and  face  were  of  such  a 
nature  that,  owing  solely  to  their  effects  upon  the  organs 
of  sight,  they  would  cause  almost  any  observer  of  ordin- 
ary taste,  however  ignorant  of  whom  or  of  what  she 
was,  to  declare  her  to  be  beautiful.  But,  behind  and 
above  the  attractions  of  her  mere  appearance,  this  gave 
expression  to  such  a  character,  to  such  mental  and  sym- 
pathetic traits,  that  none  of  her  own  family,  intimately 
acquainted  with  these,  would  have  been  willing  to  admit 
that  she  was  beautiful  to  others  in  as  deep  and  spiritual 
a  sense  as  to  themselves. 

Again,  there  are  certain  combinations  of  colours  and 
sounds,  say  a  flag  like  that  of  Italy  or  a  tune  like  the 
"Austrian  National  Hymn,"  the  effects  of  which,  in 
every  land,  without  something  to  interfere  with  the  nor- 
mal action  of  the  eye  or  ear,  are  recognised  to  be  beauti- 
ful. Yet  it  is  possible  that,  owing  to  certain  associations 
of  ideas,  or  to  certain  suggestions  excited  by  their  effects 
upon  the  mind,  the  indisputable  beauty  both  of  the  flag 
and  of  the  tune  may  fail  to  appeal  to  some.  Did  the 
Italian  flac  seem  beautiful  at  the  time  of  the  unification 


COMPLEXITY  OF  BEAUTY.  21 

of  Italy  to  the  adherents  of  the  Pope?  or  the  Austrian 
hymn  seem  so  to  the  Italians  when  Austria  seemed  their 
oppressor? 

It  has  to  be  acknowledged  that  these  illustrations 
merely  touch  the  surface  of  the  subject.  Nevertheless, 
they  contain  suggestions  that  are  important.  Notice 
particularly  the  suggestion  that  complexity  of  effects  is 
characteristic  of  beauty.  It  is  attributed,  in  each  in- 
stance, so  far  as  it  is  complete  and  ideal,  not  to  a  single 
effect,  as  to  one  upon  the  senses,  or  to  one  upon  the 
mind,  but,  necessarily,  to  more  than  one,  often  to  many 
effects  conjointly  exerting  both  a  physical  and  a  psychical 
influence.  In  view  of  this  fact,  we  are  naturally  prompted 
to  ask  whether  complexity  of  effects,  which,  so  far,  has 
been  treated  as  merely  incidental  to  complete  beauty,  can 
be  considered  essential  to  it. 

Let  us  apply  this  question,  first,  to  effects  of  beauty 
that  are  experienced  solely  in  the  physical  organs  of  hear- 
ing and  sight,  and  in  these  organs  as  they  are  presented 
in  their  rudiments,  i.  e.,  in  elementary  sounds,  lines,  or 
colours.  When  is  a  sound  beautiful?  Few  would  think 
of  answering  this  except  by  saying,  when  it  is  a  blending 
together,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  harmony,  of 
several  sounds,  as  in  melodies  or  chords,  or  series  of 
chords,  —in  other  words,  when  the  sound  is  not  simple 
but  complex.  But  let  us  be  accurate  in  this  matter.  Is 
it  not  true  that  a  single  sound,  like  the  solitary,  unvaried 
note  of  a  bird  or  of  a  prima  donna,  is  sometimes  beauti- 
ful? Certainly  it  is.  But  when  is  it  beautiful?  Of 
course,  when  it  is  musical.  But  when  is  it  musical?  As 
all  physicists  know,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  complex; 
and  complex  under  such  conditions  that  all  its  component 
effects  work  together  in  ways  causing  them  to  fulfil  the 


22  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 

same  laws  of  harmony  that  are  fulfilled  in  chords  or  series 
of  them.  What  is  meant  in  saying  this  will  be  explained 
in  Chapter  XVII.  At  present  the  fact  needs  only  to  be 
stated. 

A  similar  fact  is  true  with  reference  to  lines.  When  is 
a  line  beautiful?  Who,  if  asked  this,  would  not  answer, 
when  it  outlines  a  figure?  And  when  does  it  outline  a 
figure?  — When  it  is  a  combination  of  many  lines  of  differ- 
ent directions ;  and,  therefore,  when  its  effects  are  com- 
plex. But  here  again  it  may  be  asked,  Is  a  single  line 
never  beautiful?  And  again  we  may  answer,  "Certainly." 
But,  if  so,  the  line  is  never  perfectly  straight ;  it  is  never 
a  line  having  the  simple  effect  of  only  one  direction.  The 
line  of  beauty  is  a  curve;  in  other  words,  it  has  a  com- 
plex effect.  Nor  is  it  really  beautiful  even  then,  except 
when  its  different  sections  are  conditioned  and  related  so 
as  to  produce  effects  which,  for  reasons  that  cannot  be 
given  here,  are  recognised  to  be  harmonious.  (See 
Chapter  XVI.)  The  same  is  true  of  colours  also.  Some- 
times a  single  colour  seems  beautiful.  But  when  this  is 
the  case  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  it  seems  so 
on  account  either  of  the  contrast  between  it  and  surround- 
ing colours,  or  else  of  the  play  of  light  and  shade  on  its 
surface;  and  both  these  effects  are  really  effects  of  com- 
plexity.    (See  Chapter  XVIII.) 

If  sounds,  lines,  and  colours,  even  when  considered  in 
their  elements,  owe  their  beauty  to  a  complexity,  often 
to  the  degree  of  the  complexity,  in  connection  with  which 
different  effects  are  blended  harmoniously,  this  must  be 
still  more  true  of  these  elements  when  combined  in  what 
all  recognise  to  be  the  extremely  complex  products  of 
nature  and  of  art.  What  is  meant  when  it  is  said  that 
complexity   of   effects    must    be   blended   harmoniously? 


COMPLEXITY   OF  BEAUTY.  2$ 

in  other  words,  what  is  harmonious  blending?  An  answer 
to  the  question  can  be  found  in  no  better  way  than  by 
recalling  the  discoveries  of  the  scientists  as  a  result  of 
analysing  harmony  as  it  appears  in  music.  Some  of 
these  discoveries  are  explained  in  Chapter  XVII.  of  the 
present  volume.  In  this  place,  it  is  necessary  to  say 
merely  that  harmony  has  been  found  to  be  produced  in- 
variably by  no  other  tones  or  colours  except  such  as  are 
traceable  to  the  same  or  to  multiples  of  the  same  number 
of  vibrations  per  second.  This  is  true  of  all  the  notes  of 
the  same  chord  or  scale,  and  of  all  the  shades  or  tints  of 
the  same  or  of  complementary  colours.  In  other  words, 
it  has  been  found  that  harmony  is  a  result  of  a  unity  pro- 
duced by  grouping  together  effects — i.  e.,  of  sound-waves 
or  of  colour- waves — that  are  alike;  or  are  multiples  of 
others  that  are  alike. 

A  similar  principle  is  exemplified  in  the  more  perceptible 
effects  of  rhythm,  and  of  proportion,  both  of  which  are 
acknowledged  to  be  very  important  factors  in  the  pro- 
duction of  artistic  beauty.  Rhythm  is  a  result  of  mak- 
ing, by  series  of  noises,  or  strokes,  certain  like  divisions 
of  time — small  divisions,  and  exact  multiples  of  them  in 
large  divisions.  But  the  moment  that  the  smaller  divi- 
sions become  so  numerous  that  the  fact  that  they  exactly 
go  into  the  larger  divisions  is  no  longer  perceptible — as, 
often,  when  we  hear  more  even  than  eight  or  ten  notes 
in  a  musical  measure,  or  more  than  three  or  four  syllables 
in  a  poetic  foot, — the  effect  ceases  to  be  rhythmical.  A 
like  fact  is  true  of  proportion.  Owing  to  the  very  great 
possibilities  and  complications  of  outlining,  as  in  squares, 
angles,  and  curves,  its  laws  are  intricate  and  difficult  to 
apply;  but,  as  is  shown  in  the  volume  of  the  author  en- 
titled, "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Colour  in 


24  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AiSTHETICS. 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,"  the  effects  of 
proportion  all  result,  in  the  last  analysis,  from  exact  di- 
visions and  subdivisions  of  space  in  every  way  analogous 
to  the  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  time  that  produce 
rhythm.      (See  also  Chapter  XVIII.) 

Now  the  question  comes,  Are  all  the  effects  entering 
harmoniously  into  that  complex  result  which  constitute:, 
beauty  traceable  to  such  as  influence  merely  the  physical 
organs  of  the  ear  or  eye?  In  answer  to  this  it  may  be 
stated,  first,  that  it  has  been  discovered  that  not  only  do 
the  nerves  of  the  ear  and  eye  vibrate  as  affected  by  sound 
and  sight,  and  communicate  to  the  brain  intelligence  of 
particular  degrees  of  pitch  and  hue  as  determined  by  the 
rates  and  sizes  of  the  vibratory  waves,  but  that  in  addi- 
tion to  these  the  nerves,  as  well,  that  constitute  the  sub- 
stance of  the  brain  vibrate  and  thus  give  rise  to  thoughts 
and  feelings;  and,  not  only  so,  but  that  the  vibrations  of 
the  nerves  in  particular  parts  of  the  brain  give  rise  to 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  particular  character;  such,  for 
instance,  as  those  connected  with  particular  exercises  of 
memory  in  recalling  general  events  or  specific  terms. 
These  facts  have  been  ascertained  through  various  ob- 
servations and  experiments  in  connection  with  the  loss  or 
removal  of  certain  parts  of  the  brains  of  men  or  of  animals, 
or  with  the  application  of  electricity  to  certain  systems  of 
nerves  accidentally  or  artificially  exposed  or  else  naturally 
accessible.  Of  course,  such  discoveries  tend  to  the  infer- 
ence that  all  conscious  mental  experience  whatsoever, 
precisely  as  in  the  case  of  sensations  excited  in  the  organs 
of  the  ear  and  eye,  are  effects  of  vibrations  produced  in 
the  nerves  of  the  brain.  If  this  inference  be  justified, 
the  line  of  thought  that  we  have  been  pursuing  apparently 
justifies  the  additional  inference  that  all  conscious  mental 


MENTAL   EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  2$ 

experiences  of  the  beautiful  are  effects  of  harmonious 
vibrations  produced  in  the  nerves  of  the  brain. 

In  holding  this  theory,  however,  let  us  not  neglect  no- 
ticing, as  do  many  of  its  advocates,  certain  other  facts. 
Through  the  experiments  of  hypnotism,  it  has  come  to 
be  acknowledged  that  the  outer  senses  can  be  completely 
deadened  and  yet  the  inner  processes  of  intelligence  kept 
in  a  state  of  activity;  and  not  only  so,  but  that  some- 
times, merely  at  the  mental  suggestion  of  a  hypnotiser, 
irrespective  of  any  actual  sights  or  sounds  of  the  kind, — 
irrespective  therefore  of  any  possible  vibrations  in  the 
outer  air  or  ether  to  account  for  vibratory  effects  upon 
the  physical  organs  of  the  senses, — the  one  hypnotised  is 
made  to  see  colours  or  to  hear  musical  harmonies. 

Now,  in  such  cases,  either  actual  vibrations  take  place 
in  these  organs,  or  else  they  do  not  take  place  for  the 
simple  reason  that  vibrations  are  not  necessary  to  the  re- 
sult ;  and  whichever  of  these  theories  we  adopt,  we  are 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  effects  of  beauty  are 
dependent  upon  influences  operating  in  what  we  under- 
stand to  be  the  sphere  of  the  mind.  The  influences  are 
awakened  by  the  hypnotiser  irrespective  of  any  appeal 
through  the  outer  senses,  and,  when  awakened,  they 
operate  so  powerfully  that  they  produce  either  actual 
vibrations  in  the  senses,  or,  if  not,  at  least  results  identi- 
cal with  those  caused  by  actual  vibrations.  Assuming 
now  what  it  does  not  seem  possible  to  doubt — namely, 
that  the  existence  of  these  vibrations  constitutes  the 
substance  of  that  of  which  we  are  conscious  in  aesthetic 
effects;  that  these  vibrations  are,  so  to  speak,  indispens- 
able to  the  operation  of  the  battery  of  the  brain,  which 
without  them  cannot  communicate  its  peculiar  influence 
to  intelligence, — what  are  we  to  infer,  when  we  find  that 


26  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

they  can  be  set  in  motion  not  only  from  the  physical  side, 
but — as  in  cases  of  hypnotism  not  only,  but  also  of  dreams 
about  music  and  painting,  etc.  —  from  the  non-physical 
side?  We  must  infer  that  on  this  latter  side  also  the 
same  vibrations  exist,  or,  if  not  so,  a  force  capable  of 
causing  the  same ;  and  that  the  sphere  in  which  we  are 
mentally  conscious  of  the  effects  of  the  vibrations,  or  the 
sphere  of  personal  consciousness,  as  we  may  call  it,  occu- 
pies a  region  between  the  material  and  what  we  may  term 
— because  we  cannot  conceive  of  it  as  otherwise — the  im- 
material. Add  to  this  another  fact  universally  admitted, 
which  is  that  vibrations  harmonious  in  the  sense  that  has 
been  explained  are  particularly  agreeable,  whereas  inhar- 
monius  vibrations  are  particularly  disagreeable;  and  why 
have  we  not,  from  modern  science,  a  suggestion  of  the 
possibility  of  there  being  exact  truth  in  the  theory  of 
Pythagoras  and  the  earlier  Greeks,  who  held  that  the 
mode  of  life  which  is  most  nearly  normal,  true,  divine, 
blissful,  beautiful,  is  not  only  physically — as  on  the  side 
of  the  eye  and  ear — but  spiritually — as  on  the  side  of  the 
mind— a  mode  of  harmony,  a  mode  fitted  to  produce  a 
literal  "music  of  the  spheres"?  As  has  been  said,  our 
minds  are  conscious  of  experiencing  from  a  world  which 
we  can  see  and  hear  harmonious  effects  which  are  identi- 
cal with  effects  coming  from  a  world  of  which  we  can  only 
think  and  feel.  Now,  if  by  scientific  analysis  we  can 
ascertain  the  method  of  producing  harmonious  effects 
which  come  from  the  one  world,  why  have  we  not  a  right 
to  argue  that  it  is  through  the  same  method  that  they 
come  from  the  other?  (See  the  Appendix  to  this  volume.) 
Let  us  notice  some  further  considerations  serving  to  in- 
dicate the  accuracy  of  the  view  that  has  here  been  taken. 
Observe,  first,  that  the  very  complexity  and  unity  that 


MENTAL  EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  21] 

have  been  shown  to  be  essential  to  beauty  of  form  can  be 
recognised  by  only  the  exercise  of  distinctively  mental 
analysis.  Indeed,  the  range  of  the  appreciation  of  beauty 
is  invariably  limited  by  the  ability  of  the  mind  to  make 
this  analysis.  If  musical  tones  be  made  to  follow  one 
another  too  rapidly  for  the  mind  to  distinguish  the  differ- 
ences between  them,  the  result  is  not  rhythm  or  melody, 
but  noise;  or  if  a  round  disk  with  harmonious  colours 
near  its  rim  be  made  to  revolve  too  rapidly  for  the  mind 
to  distinguish  them,  the  whole  produces  only  the  effect 
of  a  mixed  colour  usually  of  a  dingy  and  thoroughly  non- 
beautiful  white.  A  similar  result  is  produced  in  poetry 
by  metaphors  or  similes,  the  different  effects  of  which  are 
so  complicated  as  to  appear  mixed,  as  well  as  by  hues, 
outlines,  or  carvings  of  a  similarly  confused  nature  in 
pictures,  statues,  or  buildings. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  and  with  reason,  that  this 
mental  analysis  is  not  necessary  to  the  recognition  of 
beauty  alone,  but  of  any  appearance  the  parts  of  which 
one  wishes  to  perceive  clearly.  Observe  again,  then,  that 
whenever  any  outward  form  is  perceived,  and,  as  a  result 
of  being  perceived,  is  termed  beautiful,  there  is  always  in 
the  mind  a  standard-form  or  a  typical  form,  by  which  to 
judge  of  it.  This  standard-form,  while  clearly  a  result 
of  the  perception  of  the  outward  object,  is  nevertheless 
different  from  the  outward  object.  It  is  a  purely  mental 
product  conjured  by  imagination  from  the  regions  of 
recollection,  association,  and  suggestion.  In  other  words, 
it  is  a  complex  result  of  many  mental  experiences.  "We 
may  remark,"  says  Immanuel  Kant,  in  his  "Kritik  der 
Urtheilskraft,"  as  translated  by  J.  H.  Bernard,  pt.  i.,  d.  i., 
section  17,  p.  87,  "that  the  imagination  can  not  only  re- 
call, on  occasion,  the  signs  for  concepts  long  past,  but 


28  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  .-ESTHETICS. 

can  also  reproduce  the  image  of  the  figure  of  the  object 
out  of  an  unspeakable  number  of  objects  of  different 
kinds,  or  even  of  the  same  kind.  .  .  .  Every  one 
has  seen  a  thousand  full-grown  men.  Now,  if  you  wish 
to  judge  of  their  normal  size,  estimating  it  by  means  of 
comparison,  the  imagination,  as  I  think,  allows  a  great 
number  of  images  (perhaps  the  whole  thousand)  to  fall 
on  one  another.  .  .  .  And  this  is  the  stature  of  a 
beautiful  man."  In  other  words,  according  to  Kant,  the 
imagination  acts  in  this  matter  in  precise  analogy  to  the 
method,  discovered  since  his  time,  of  the  composite 
photograph. 

The  general  principle  brought  out  in  this  quotation  is 
that,  in  connection  with  almost  every  phase  of  beauty 
recognised  merely  by  the  eye  or  ear,  there  is  another 
phase  recognised  by  the  mind.  Certain  facts  with  which 
we  are  familiar  in  all  the  arts  will  illustrate  this;  and  first 
in  music.  Notwithstanding  the  extreme  difficulty  of 
separating  any  musical  effects  whatever  from  such  as 
appeal  merely  to  the  outward  senses,  those  accustomed 
to  analyse  when  listening  to  music  will  become  conscious 
of  a  degree  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  not  due  to  that  which 
is  being  heard,  but  to  certain  concrete  effects  of  that 
which  has  been  heard  before,  and  is  now  awakened  in  the 
mind  by  way  of  recollection,  association,  or  suggestion. 
Even  in  cases  in  which  nothing  is  thus  recalled,  the  aes- 
thetic pleasure  is  often  enhanced  by  a  wholly  mental 
recognition  of  a  balancing  of  phrase  with  phrase,  and  of 
movement  with  movement,  such  as  we  find  in  the  blend- 
ings  of  melodies  and  their  variations;  or  of  two  or  more 
themes  or  tunes  as  in  the  overture  of  Wagner's  "Tann- 
hauser,"  or  in  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner,"  accompanied 
by  "Yankee  Doodle." 


MENTAL  EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  29 

But  this  combination  of  mental  effects  with  those  of 
form  can  be  recognised  more  clearly  in  connection  with 
poetry.  In  this  art,  besides  the  beauty  which  is  due  to 
phraseology,  as  manifested  in  the  choice  and  sequence  of 
words,  and  in  various  developments  of  assonance,  allitera- 
tion, rhythm,  and  rhyme,  everybody  acknowledges  that 
there  is  also  a  beauty  dependent  upon  the  thought,  the 
proof  of  which  is  that  this  beauty  is  frequently  as  great 
in  prose  as  in  poetry.  But  from  what  does  this  beauty 
spring?  Clearly  and  unmistakably  from  a  combination 
of  the  effects  of  recollection,  association,  and  suggestion, 
assuming  concrete  form  in  the  imagination ;  in  other 
words,  from  the  harmonious  effects  of  many  different 
forms,  some  coming  from  without  and  some  from  within 
the  mind,  some  perceptible  to  sight,  or  recalled  by  memory 
as  once  perceptible  to  sight,  and  some,  according  to  the 
laws  of  the  mind,  merely  conjured  by  fancy.  As  a  rule, 
too,  the  wider  apart  the  spheres  are  from  which  these 
effects  are  derived,  introducing  that  which  is  unexpected 
and  surprising,  the  more  striking  is  the  beauty  resulting 
from  their  combination,  as  where  those  that  are  ex- 
tremely material  are  united  to  those  that  are  extremely 
mental,  e.  g., 

Still  as  a  slave  before  his  lord, 

The  ocean  hath  no  blast ; 
His  great  bright  eye  most  silently 

Up  to  the  moon  is  cast. 

The  Ancient  Mariner  :   Coleridge. 

A  similar  fact  is  true  in  the  arts  of  sight.  We  some- 
times find,  as  in  the  pictures  of  early  Christian  art,  a 
degree  of  beauty  which  cannot  be  attributed  to  any  ful- 
filment of  the  laws  of  line  or  of  colour,  such  as  meet  the 
physiological  requirements  of  the  eye.      Yet  often  these 


30  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

pictures  are  acknowledged  to  possess  great  charm,  owing 
to  what  is  termed,  notwithstanding  the  implication  of 
some  that  it  does  not  exist,  beauty  of  expression.  What 
is  meant  by  this?  Careful  analysis  will  show  that  it 
means  that  the  pictures  give  evidence  of  a  blending  of 
separate  and  very  widely  different  effects,  only  a  few  of 
which  are  attributable  to  form  as  form.  The  rest  are 
attributable  to  traits  of  character,  which  certain  of  the  de- 
picted faces  and  figures  are  supposed  to  manifest.  But 
is  not  every  one  of  these  traits  of  character  conjured  by 
the  imagination  of  the  spectator  and  assigned  to  the 
forms  only  so  far  as  they  have  effects  upon  the  recollec- 
tion of  some  like  form,  or  upon  one's  association  with  it, 
or  as  they  in  some  other  way  suggest  a  significance  which 
can  have  its  origin  nowhere  else  than  in  his  mind? 

Possibly  the  reader  may  find  himself  desiring,  just 
here,  a  further  explanation  of  the  method  through  which, 
in  connection  with  an  appeal  to  the  senses,  harmony  of 
effects  can  be  produced  within  the  mind.  What  is  meant 
by  harmony  of  mental  effects?  It  is  not  difficult  to  an- 
swer this  question.  In  music  or  in  poetry,  it  is  produced 
when  one,  in  composing  a  march,  a  waltz,  a  comic  opera, 
or  a  tragic  opera,  or  in  writing  an  elegy,  a  love  song,  or 
an  epic,  selects  in  each  case  an  appropriate  form  of  move- 
ment or  phraseology  of  rhythm  or  verse.  The  following 
lines  not  only  enjoin  but  exemplify  this  method : 

Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows. 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows  ; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore. 
The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 

Essay  on  Criticism  •  Pope. 

In  the  arts  of  sight  the  same  likeness  between  effects 
upon  the  eye  and  upon  the  mind  is  manifested  when,  as 


MENTAL   EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  3 1 

in  some  landscapes,  every  cloud,  wave,  leaf,  limb,  or 
shred  of  clothing  on  human  forms  augments  the  sugges- 
tions naturally  associated  with  the  indications  of  the  per- 
vading fury  of  a  tempest;  or  when,  for  instance,  Oriental 
scenery  and  Moorish  architecture,  Italian  scenery  and 
Renaissance,  Northern  French  and  Gothic,  are  made  to 
go  together,  as  also  the  costumes  or  attitudes  of  certain 
figures,  and  the  appearances  of  certain  places  or  periods. 
The  theory  that  the  highest  beauty  can  exist  aside 
from  expression,  or  irrespective  of  expression,  or  of  the 
quality  of  that  expression,  which  seems  to  be  held  by 
many,  especially  by  certain  painters  and  literary  men  of 
the  present,  is  not  founded  upon  any  accurate  or  com- 
prehensive consideration  of  the  subject.  Take  a  scene  of 
debauchery — a  mingling  of  vice  and  nakedness — could 
any  amount  of  faultless  music  or  physique  make  this 
seem  to  a  pure  mind  other  than  disgusting  and  revolting? 
And  could  the  effects  of  beauty  be  fully  experienced,  or 
consciously  experienced  at  all,  in  connection  with  either 
feeling?  Certainly  they  could  not,  and  why  not?  Be- 
cause the  effects  which  act  together  harmoniously,  so  far 
as  concerns  their  influence  upon  the  ear  or  eye,  are  ac- 
companied by  other  effects  produced  through  the  agency  of 
the  imagination  calling  up  forms  from  the  realms  of  recol- 
lection, association,  and  suggestion  ;  and  with  these  latter 
effects  the  effects  from  without  are  discordant.  The  es- 
sential element  of  beauty  is  harmony  resulting  from  com- 
plexity of  effects,  and  the  greater  the  number  of  the  effects 
upon  the  mind  that  can  be  added  to  effects  upon  the  senses, 
the  greater,  as  a  rule,  is  the  amount  of  the  beauty.  A  sin- 
gle note  is  beautiful,  as  has  been  said,  because  compounded 
of  two  or  three  different  tones  that  harmonise;  but  it  is 
usuallv  more  beautiful  when  heard  in  connection  with  a 


32  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

melody  or  chord  or  series  of  chords  that  multiply  the 
complexity  of  the  harmony  many  scores  of  times.  And 
it  is  still  more  beautiful  when,  in  addition  to  this,  it  re- 
sembles, so  as  clearly  to  represent,  some  natural  or  con- 
ventional method  of  expression,  and  therefore  some  effect 
of  emotion,  and  in  connection  with  this  a  combination  of 
the  effects  of  many  different  emotions.  Without  the  im- 
pressions of  joy,  admiration,  surprise,  or  wonder,  which 
are  conveyed  to  the  mind,  it  would  often  be  impossible 
for  tones — having,  sometimes,  the  qualities  of  noise  more 
than  of  music — to  exert  upon  thought  and  emotion  the 
thrilling  and  inspiring  effects  to  which  we  refer  when  we 
term  them  beautiful.  So  with  lines  and  colours,  and 
with  whole  pictures;  they  are  all  made  more  beautiful, 
the  more  their  harmony  results  from  effects  of  apparent 
complexity  in  the  form,  and  more  beautiful  still,  the 
more  this  harmony  results  also  from  the  mental  effects 
of  images  recalled  in  memory  or  conjured  by  imagination. 
This  increase  of  beauty  continues  up  to  the  point  where 
confusion  begins,  a  statement  which  is  true  even  of  the 
blending  of  effects  from  different  arts,  as  where  to  those  of 
melody  are  added  those  first  of  harmony,  then  of  poetry, 
then  of  acting,  then  of  dancing,  then  of  painting,  then  of 
sculpture,  then  of  architecture,  till,  finally,  we  have  all 
the  components  of  a  Wagnerian  opera.  In  all  such  cases, 
up  to  the  point  where  confusion  begins — but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  with  some,  perhaps  with  most  people,  it 
begins  long  before  the  list  is  completed — there  is  an  ap- 
prehensible increase  of  the  distinctly  aesthetic  influence. 
As  a  result  of  the  foregoing  discussion,  we  may  say 
that  beauty  is  a  characteristic  of  any  complex  form  of 
varied  elements  producing  apprehensible  unity  (z*.  e., 
harmony  or  likeness)  of  effects  upon  the  motive  organs 


DEFINITION  OF  BEAUTY.  33 

of  sensation  in  the  ear  or  eye,  or  upon  the  emotive  sources 
of  imagination  in  the  mind  ;  or  upon  both  the  one  and 
the  other. 

Of  course,  this  definition  is  a  broad  one,  and,  being 
so,  leaves  much  to  be  explained;  but  so  does  any 
definition,  the  only  difference  between  a  good  one  and  a 
bad  one  being  that  the  former  clearly  indicates  exactly 
what  it  is  that  needs  explaining.  What  needs  explain- 
ing in  this  one  is  the  particular  methods  through  which 
likeness  in  effects  can  be  produced  in  the  senses,  and  in 
the  mind,  and  in  both.  These  methods  will  be  found 
explained,  to  an  extent  never  before  attempted,  in  the 
author's  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  the  general  con- 
clusions of  which  book  are  briefly  summarised  in  Chap- 
ters XIV.  and  XV.  of  the  present  volume. 

The  definition,  as  has  been  said,  is  broad;  but  if  it 
were  not  so,  it  might  not  apply  to  every  phase  of  the 
subject.  As  it  is,  it  interprets  equally  all  beauty,  whether 
manifested  in  nature  or  in  art.  How  important  this  fact 
is,  may  be  inferred  from  this  remark  made  by  J.  S.  Ked- 
ney  in  his  "Critical  Exposition  of  Hegel's  /Esthetics  "  : 
"Both  Kant  and  Hegel,  when  they  think  of  the  beauti- 
ful, have  in  mind  the  productions  of  art,  and  only  re- 
luctantly allow  place  to  the  beautiful  in  nature,  as  though 
art  almost  monopolised  the  beautiful,  and  in  it  alone 
beauty,  the  highest  and  purest,  was  to  be  found." 

The  definition,  moreover,  applies  equally  well  to  beauty 
whether  appealing,  in  time  or  in  space,  to  the  ear  or  to 
the  eye,  whether  manifested  in  grace  of  movement  or  of 
outline,  or  whether  in  richness  of  tone  or  of  colour.  This 
breadth  of  applicability  is  essential  to  comprehensiveness; 
and  it  is  largely  the  lack  of  the  latter  in  many  attempted 
definitions  that  explains  their  failure. 


34  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

Again,  the  definition  is  so  comprehensive  that  it  may 
be  said  to  include  almost  all  the  characteristics  that  any 
large  number  of  writers  upon  the  subject  have  considered 
essential  to  beauty.  Not  only  do  the  general  conclusions 
of  the  definition  accord  with  the  conceptions  of  that  vast 
majority  who  attribute  beauty  to  the  effects  of  harmony,1 
or  of  unity  in  variety,  or,  as  elsewise  expressed,  the  one 
in  tJie  manifold?  but  the  recognition  of  the  importance 
of  the  effects  of  form  in  connection  with  effects  of  thought 
and  feeling  accords  with  the  conceptions  of  those  who 
attribute  beauty  to  the  results  either  of  fitness,  utility,  or 

1  The  opinion,  among  others,  of  Pythagoras,  Kepler  in  his  "  Harmonices 
Mundi,"  Leibnitz  in  his  "  Principes  de  la  Nature,"  Kant  in  his  "  Kritik 
der  Urtheilskraft,"  K.  J.  F.  Schnaase  in  his  "  Geschichte  der  bildenden 
Kiinste,"  J.  van  Vloten  in  his  "  Nederlandsche  Aesthetik,"  Lord  Shaftes- 
bury in  his  "  Miscellaneous  Reflections,"  Henry  Fuseli  in  the  "  Lectures 
of  the  Royal  Academicians,"  D.  R.  Hay  in  his  "Science  of  Beauty  as  De- 
veloped in  Nature  and  Applied  in  Art,"  J.  Jungmann  in  his  "  Aesthetik," 
C.  W.  Opzoomer  in  his  "  Het  Wezen  der  Kennis,"  James  Sully  in  his 
"  Sensation  and  Intuition." 

2  Plato,  Aristotle,  Vitruvius,  and  Augustine,  J.  P.  de  Crousaz  in  his 
"  Traite  du  Beau,"  Francis  Hutcheson  in  his  "  Inquiry  into  the  Original  of 
Our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virtue,"  William  Hogarth  in  his  "  Analysis  of 
Beauty,"  Alexander  Gerard  in  his  "  Essay  on  Taste,"  William  Shenstone 
in  his  "  Essay  on  Taste,"  Abraham  Tucker  in  his  "Light  of  Nature  Pur- 
sued," J.  G.  Sulzer  in  his  "  Allgemeine  Theorie  der  Schonen  Kiinste,"  F. 
von  Schlegel  in  his  "Aesthetik,"  H.  van  Alphen  in  his  "Theorie  van 
Schoone  Kunsten  en  Wetenschappen,"  A.  C.  Quatremere  de  Quincy  in  his 
"  De  l'Universalite  du  Beau  et  de  la  Maniere  de  l'Entendre,"  Victor  Cousin 
in  his  "  Du  Vrai,  du  Bien,  et  du  Beau,"  G.  H.  de  Coster  in  his  "  Elements 
de  l'Esthetique  Generale,"  the  Abbe  P.  Vallet  in  his  "  LTdee  du  Beau," 
Moritz  Carriere  in  his  "  Aesthetik,"  K.  C.  F.  Krause  in  his  "System  der 
Aesthetik,"  S.  T.  Coleridge  in  his  "  BiographiaLiteraria,"  J.  G.  MacVicar 
in  his  essay  "  On  the  Beautiful,  the  Picturesque,  and  the  Sublime,"  W.  B. 
Scott  in  his  "  Half-Hour  Lectures  on  the  History  and  Practice  of  the  Fine 
and  Ornamental  Arts,"  Sidney  Dobell  in  his  "  Thoughts  on  Art,  Philoso- 
phy, and  Religion." 


DEFINITION  OF  BEAUTY.  35 

adaptability?  or  of  truth,2  or  of  perfection* ';  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  importance  of  effects  in  thought  and  feeling,  in 
connection  with  effects  of  form,  accords  with  the  concep- 
tions of  those  who  attribute  beauty  to  the  expression  of 
either  ideas,*  associations,'"  vital  or  spiritual  force  or  life? 
goodness,'1  love  {sympathy)?  or  personality* ;  and  the 
recognition  of  the  importance  of  a  combination  of  all 
these  effects  accords  with  the  conceptions  of  those  who 

1  Alexander  Gerard  in  his  "  Essay  on  Taste,"  Lord  Karnes  in  his  "  Ele- 
ments of  Criticism,"  James  Beattie  in  his  "  Dissertations,"  etc  ,  Sir  William 
Hamilton  in  his  "  Lectures  on  Metaphysics,"  James  Fergusson  in  his 
"  History  of  Architecture,"  A.  W.  Holmes-Forbes  in  his  "  Science  of 
Beauty." 

2  F.  von  Schlegel  in  his  "  Aesthetik,"  Nicolas  Boileau-Despreaux  in  his 
"  L'Art  Poetique,"  Joseph  Torrey  in  his  "  Theory  of  Fine  Art." 

3  Baumgarten  in  his  "  Aesthetica,"  Friedrich  Meier  in  his  "  Anfangs- 
gri'mde  der  Schonen  Wissenschaften,"  J.  G.  Sulzer  in  his  "  Allgemeine 
Theorie  der  Schonen  Kiinste." 

4  Rodolphe  Topffer  in  his  "  Reflexions  et  Menus-Propos  d'un  Peintre 
Genevois — on  Essai  sur  le  Beau  dans  les  Arts,"  John  Bascom  in  his  "  Ais- 
thetics,  or  Science  of  Beauty." 

5  Archibald  Alison  in  his  "  Essay  on  the  Nature  and  Principles  of  Taste," 
Francis  Jeffrey  in  an  "  Essay  on  Beauty,"  Thomas  Brown  in  his  "  Lectures 
on  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,"  Thomas  Purdie  in  his  "  Form 
and  Sound." 

6  Hegel  in  his  "  Aesthetik,"  J.  M.  Guyau  in  his  "  Les  Problemes  de 
l'Esthetique  Contemporaine,"  H.  Quilter  in  his  "  Sententise  Artis,"  J. 
van  Vloten  in  his  "  Nederlandsche  Aesthetik,"  Vincenzo  Gioberti  in  his 
"  Trattato  del  Bello,"  John  Bascom  in  his  "  ^Esthetics,  or  Science  of 
Beauty." 

7  John  Ruskin  in  his  "  Modern  Painters,"  G.  T.  Ladd  in  his  "  Introduc- 
tion to  Philosophy." 

8  Erasmus  Darwin  in  his  "  Zoonomia,  or  the  Laws  of  Organic  Life," 
Charles  Darwin,  in  his  "  Descent  of  Man,"  John  Todhunter  in  a  lecture 
on  the  "  Theory  of  the  Beautiful." 

9  Theodore  Jouffroy  in  his  "  Cours  d'Esthetique,"  Hegel  in  his  "Aes- 
thetik," F.  T.  Vischer  in  his  "Aesthetik,"  Eugene  Veron  in  his 
"  L'Esthetique." 


36  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

attribute  beauty  to  that  which  is  either  symbolic,1  or,  by 
shine2  or  splendour*  transcends  or  transfigures  the  ordin- 
ary.4 Finally,  the  general  conclusions  reached  may  be 
made  to  accord  with  the  most  modern  theories  of  physio- 
logical psychology,6  as  well  as  with  the  theories  of  either 
of  the  two  great  schools  of  idealism  or  materialism,  with 
one  or  the  other,  or  both,  of  which  all  possible  theories 
may  be  classed.  If  the  idealist  tell  us  that  all  art  springs 
from  the  embodiment  of  an  ideal  existing  as  an  absolute 
spiritual  essence  in  natural  forms,  which,  wherever  it  is 
present,  is  intuitively  recognised  by  the  mind,  we  can 
accept  his  statement,  provided  he  include  in  his  concep- 
tion of  the  ideal  existing  in  the  forms  their  physical 
effects  upon  the  artist's  physical  nature,  which  he  em- 
bodies as  physical  influences  in  the  art  that  he  produces. 
And  if  the  materialist  tell  us  that  all  art  springs  from  the 

1  U.  W.  F.  Solger  in  his  "  Vorlesungen  iiber  Aesthetik,"  T.  Carlyle  in 
his  "Sartor  Resartus." 

2  J.  J.  Winckelmann  in  his  "  Geschichte  der  Kunst  des  Alterthums,"  E. 
von  Hartmann  in  his  "  Aesthetik." 

3  Abbe  P.  Vallet  in  his  "  LTdee  du  Beau  dans  la  Philosophic  de  Saint 
Thomas  d'Aquin." 

4  Theories  of  Plotinus,  Proclus,  and  St.  Augustine,  "La  Vite  di  Pittori, 
Scultori,  et  Architetti  moderni  "  of  J.  P.  Bellori,  "  Alciphron,  or  the 
Minute  Philosopher"  of  Bishop  George  Berkeley,  "Du  Beau  dans  la 
Nature,  l'Art  et  la  Poesie  "  of  Adolphe  Pictet,  "Journal  Intime"  of  H.  F. 
Amiel,  "  Discours  "  of  A.  C.  Quatremere  de  Quincy,  "  Proclus"  and  "Du 
Vrai,  du  Bien,  et  du  Beau"  of  Victor  Cousin,  "  Cours  d'Esthetique  "  of 
Theodore  Jouffroy,  "  La  Science  du  Beau  "  of  Charles  Leveque,  "  Lettera 
tura  e  Arti  Belle"  of  A.  Rosmini-Serbati,  "  De  Socratische  School"  of  P. 
W.  van  Hensde,  "Essays  on  the  Fine  Arts"  of  S.  T.  Coleridge,  "The 
Beautiful  in  Nature,  Art,  and  Life"  of  A.  J.  Symington,  the  "  Discourses 
on  Beauty"  of  J.  S.  Blackie. 

5  See  Appendix  to  this  volume,  page  2S7.  Consult,  also,  the  classifica- 
tion of  the  various  theories  of  beauty  in  the  author's  "  Art  in  Theory,"  pp. 
106-184. 


TASTE.  37 

imitation,  direct  or  indirect,  of  the  forms  of  nature,  we 
can  accept  his  statement,  provided  he  include  in  his  con- 
ception of  the  forms  of  nature  their  psychic  effects  upon 
the  artist's  psychic  nature,  which  he  embodies  as  psychic 
influences  in  the  art  that  he  produces. 

Before  closing  this  chapter,  mention,  perhaps,  should 
be  made  of  taste,  a  term  in  common  use,  indicative  of 
that  within  the  mind  enabling  one  to  recognise  an  artistic 
effect,  and  to  judge  in  some  way  of  its  quality.  The 
term  originated  in  an  adaptation  to  a  feeling  in  the  mind 
of  that  which  can  be  actually  experienced  in  only  one  of 
the  senses,  and  this  a  lower  sense.  As  originally  used, 
too,  taste  indicated  a  passive  state ;  but  even  when  refer- 
ring to  the  lower  sense  it  may  indicate  an  active.  A 
cook  whose  taste  is  good  can  prepare  a  dish  to  the  taste 
of  others.  In  a  similar  way,  in  art,  the  word  may  indi- 
cate a  man's  appreciation  and  also  his  application  of  the 
laws  of  beauty.  Again,  when  referring  to  the  lower 
sense,  men  are  said  to  have  a  natural  and  a  cultivated 
taste;  and  the  same  is  true  with  reference  to  their  atti- 
tude toward  beauty. 

As  applied  to  the  whole  range  of  artistic  effects,  the 
relation  of  taste  to  the  aesthetic  nature  seems  to  be  pre- 
cisely that  of  conscience  to  the  moral  nature,  and  of 
judgment  to  the  intellectual.  Enlighten  a  man's  soul, 
his  conscience  will  prompt  to  better  actions,-  increase 
his  wisdom,  his  judgment  will  give  better  decisions. 
According  to  the  same  analogy,  cultivate  his  aesthetic 
nature,—/,  e. ,  improve  the  accuracy  of  his  ear  or  eye,  his 
knowledge  of  the  different  appearances  of  life,  or  of 
modes  of  each  life, — and  his  taste  will  be  cultivated  and 
improved.  He  may  never  reach  a  position  where  he  can 
know  what  is  absolutely  beautiful  any  more  than  what  is 


38  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

absolutely  right  or  wise;  but  he  may  be  constantly  ap- 
proaching nearer  such  a  knowledge.  Hence,  as  applied 
to  art,  the  old  adage,  "De  gustibus  non  est  disputan- 
dum,"  is  not,  in  every  sense,  true. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ARTISTIC     MENTAL    ACTION,     AS     DISTINGUISHED    FROM 
THAT    IN    RELIGION   AND    SCIENCE. 

That  which  is  Expressed  in  Art — The  Play-Impulse  as  Described  by  Schil- 
ler, Spencer,  Brown — Relation  of  the  Art-Impulse  to  Excess  of  Life- 
Force  and  to  Imitation — To  Spiritual  Force — To  Inspiration — The 
Conscious  and  Subconscious  Spheres  of  Mind  ;  Memory — Hypnotism 
— Trained  Automatic  Skill — Subconscious  Mathematical,  Logical,  and 
Musical  Proficiency — Religious  Inspiration,  Scientific  Investigation, 
and  Artistic  Imagination — Differences  between  Religion  and  Art — Art 
Can  Influence  for  Good  Religious  Thought  and  Life — Differences 
between  Science  and  Art — The  Main  Work  of  Science  Conducted  in 
the  Conscious  Mental  Region  ;  that  of  Art  Equally  in  the  Subconscious 
— Illustrations — The  Man  of  Imagination  and  of  None — Subconscious 
Mental  and  Imaginative  Action  is  not  Irrational,  though  it  is  Rapid 
and  Emotional  —  Connection  between  Artistic  Mental  Action  and 
Temperament — Artists  are  Men  of  Sentiment. 

/^ERTAIN  limitations  of  the  sights  and  sounds  that 
can  be  used  in  the  arts  of  the  highest  rank — termed 
by  the  French  Les  Beaux  Arts — were  considered  in  the 
chapter  just  closed.  Let  us  now  consider  certain  limita- 
tions of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  that  can  be  expressed 
through  such  arts.  A  moment's  thought  will  reveal  to 
us  that  these  thoughts  and  emotions  when  exercised,  in 
accordance  with  what  was  said  on  page  6,  for  a  useful 
and  therefore,  a  non-sesthetic  end  are  usually  such  as 
are  fitted  to  meet  some  external  emergency ;  whereas 
thoughts  and  emotions  exercised  for  an   aesthetic  and, 

39 


40  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

therefore,  a  non-useful  end  are  usually  such  as  are  not 
intentionally  fitted  to  meet  any  external  emergency,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  are  under  the  predominating  influence 
of  some  inward  impulse  of  the  mind.  The  products  of 
the  higher  arts  are  of  the  nature  of  those  owing  their 
origin,  in  the  sphere  of  thought,  to  dreaming  rather  than 
to  planning;  in  the  sphere  of  feeling,  to  spontaneity 
rather  than  to  responsiveness;  in  the  sphere  of  action,  to 
play  rather  than  to  work. 

In  accordance  with  this  latter  conception,  the  poet 
Frederick  von  Schiller,  in  his  ' '  Briefe  uber  die  aesthetische 
Erziehung  des  Menschen,"  attributes  all  aesthetic  results 
to  what  he  terms  the  play-impulse.  Developing  this  the- 
ory, Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  "Principles  of  Psychology," 
says  that  "as  we  ascend  to  animals  of  high  types, 
we  begin  to  find  that  time  and  strength  are  not 
wholly  absorbed  in  providing  for  immediate  needs.  A 
cat  with  claws  and  appended  muscles  adjusted  to  daily 
action  in  catching  prey,  but  now  leading  a  life  that  is  but 
in  a  small  degree  predatory,  has  a  craving  to  exercise 
these  parts.  .  .  .  This  useless  activity  of  unused 
organs,  which  in  these  cases  hardly  rises  to  what  we  call 
play,  passes  into  play  ordinarily  so  called,  when  there  is 
a  more  manifest  union  of  feeling  with  the  action.  .  .  . 
Dogs  and  other  predatory  creatures  show  us  unmistak- 
ably that  their  play  consists  of  mimic  chase  and  mimic 
fighting.  The  plays  of  children — nursing  dolls,  giving 
tea  parties,  and  so  on — are  dramatisings  of  adult  activi- 
ties. The  sports  of  boys,  chasing  one  another,  wrestling, 
making  prisoners,  obviously  gratify  in  a  partial  way  the 
predatory  instincts.  .  .  ."  G.  Baldwin  Brown,  in 
his  work  on  "The  Fine  Arts,"  after  quoting  this  passage, 
adds:    "Man    possesses    an    ideal    self-determined    life, 


I    £' 


O     CO 


42  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

existing  side  by  side  with,  but  apart  from,  his  life  as  con- 
ditioned by  material  needs.  This  life  expresses  itself  in, 
and  is  nourished  by,  various  forms  of  'free  and  spon- 
taneous expression  and  action,'  which  in  the  lower 
grades  of  being  may  be  termed  simply  'play,'  but  in  the 
higher  grades  take  the  shape  of  that  rational  and  signifi- 
cant play  resulting  in  art." 

This  is  much  the  same  as  to  say  that  every  animate 
creature  is  an  embodiment  of  vitality,  or  life-force,  as  we 
may  term  it;  and,  as  if  to  prevent  a  lack  of  it  in  him,  it 
is  usually  given  him  in  excess.  For  this  reason,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  desires  behind  all  the  appetites,  it  always 
tends  to  overflow  the  channels  of  necessary  activity. 
When  it  does  this,  one  invariable  characteristic  of  play, 
as  is  suggested  by  Mr.  Spencer  in  the  quotation  just 
made,  is  imitation.  The  same  is  invariably  a  character- 
istic of  the  art-impulse.  Not  only  is  dramatising,  as  Mr. 
Spencer  intimates,  imitation,  but  so,  in  a  sense,  is  poet- 
ising, being  supposedly  representative  of  what  men  are 
supposed  to  say,  or  think,  or  do.  So,  too,  are  repro- 
ductions of  scenes  in  nature  through  drawing,  colouring, 
or  modelling;  and  the  same  may  also  be  affirmed,  in  a 
sense  that  need  not  be  explained  here,  of  much  that  is 
reproduced  in  music  and  architecture.  These  facts  ex- 
plain why  it  is,  and  how  it  is,  that  art  of  the  highest  rank, 
while  that  which  reproduces  most  extensively  and  ac- 
curately the  appearances,  and,  as  shown  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  the  beauties  of  nature,  is  also  the  art  which  fur- 
nishes expression  for  thoughts  and  emotions  that  are 
most  freely  and  spontaneously  impelled  from  within. 
Those,  therefore,  who  identify  the  art-impulse  with  the 
play-impulse  are  justified  when  they  apply  their  tests 
either  to  the  results  of  the  two,  or  to  their  sources.     It  is 


INSPIRA  TION.  43 

hardly  necessary  to  point  out,  after  what  has  been  said, 
that  the  products  which  are  human  in  the  finest  and  most 
distinctive  sense,  do  not  result  from  an  excess  of  life- 
force  in  general,  but  only  of  that  particular  phase  of  it 
which  is  expended  distinctively  upon  modes  of  express- 
ing thought  or  feeling.  Force,  moreover,  is  something 
which  derives  its  importance,  if  not  its  quality,  less  from 
itself  than  from  that  in  which  or  upon  which  it  operates. 
We  all  recognise  a  difference  in  both  importance  and 
quality  in  what  we  term  hand-power  and  electric  power. 
According  to  a  similar  analogy,  it  is  evident  that  the 
force  which  is  expended  upon  the  imitation  of  nature 
may  be  much  more  important  and  very  different  in  quality 
when  it  is  used  in  the  expression  of  thought  and  feeling 
than  when  representing  merely  physical  phases  of  activity 
as  among  the  lower  animals.  When  this  is  understood, 
one  can  understand  how  art,  while  traceable  to  that 
which,  in  one  sphere,  is  a  play-motive,  and  while  produced 
with  an  aim  irrespective  of  any  consideration  of  material 
utility,  nevertheless  often  springs  from  mental  and  spirit- 
ual activity  of  the  most  distinctive  kind,  and  results  in 
the  greatest  possible  benefit  to  the  race.  A  being  with  a 
mind  and  spirit  perpetually  evolving  thought  and  feeling 
possesses  that  which,  for  its  own  sake  alone,  ought  to  be 
expressed.  With  this  thought  we  come  upon  a  philo- 
sophic, if  not  a  scientific,  warrant  for  that  common 
opinion,  so  often  held  without  reasoning  and  expressed 
without  discrimination,  that  the  products  of  art  are  to  be 
ascribed  to  what  is  termed  inspiration.  When  we  have 
traced  them  to  this  overflow  at  the  very  springs  of  mental 
vitality,  no  one  who  thinks  can  fail  to  feel  that,  if  human 
life  anywhere  can  come  into  contact  with  the  divine  life, 
it  must  be  here.     There  are  reservoirs  behind  the  springs 


44  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

of  the  mountain-streams.     Are  there  none  behind  those 
of  thought?     And  if  there  be  any,  what  are  they? 

The  answer  to  this  question  necessitates  our  entering 
upon  a  very  broad  subject,  of  which  the  outlines  only 
can  be  indicated  here.  Let  us  start  by  saying  that  there 
is  a  hidden,  occult  sphere  of  the  mind,  of  the  operations 
of  which  we  are  ordinarily  unconscious,  and  of  the  results 
of  which  we  know  only  so  far  as  they  influence  another 
sphere  of  which  we  are  ordinarily  conscious.  The  most 
apparent  facts  revealing  the  existence  of  this  unconscious, 
or,  as  it  is  often  called,  subconscious  sphere  of  the  mind, 
are  afforded,  perhaps,  by  memory.  The  mind  is  con- 
stantly recalling  experiences  of  which  it  has  been  so  thor- 
oughly oblivious  that  they  have  been  supposed  to  have 
been  lost.  But  equally  conclusive  evidences  of  the  same 
subconscious  possibility  may  be  furnished  by  other  mental 
processes.  When  trains  of  thought  are  conducting  to 
conclusions  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  what  is  the 
mind  doing  but  making  use  of  stores  not  only,  but  of 
methods  that  are  not  outside  of  it,  but  in  it,  and  yet  are 
hidden  so  deeply  in  it  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
conscious  control?  In  normal  mental  action  we  are  only 
partly  aware  of  the  extent  and  importance  of  these  stores, 
and  may  be  startled  to  hear  it  stated  that,  probably,  no- 
thing whatever  that  a  man  has  ever  seen,  heard,  touched, 
tasted,  smelled,  or,  by  the  slightest  practice,  developed 
into  the  suggestion  of  a  habit,  is  lost,  but  remains  indelibly 
impressed  upon  the  intellect  and  character.  Neverthe 
less,  such  seems  to  be  the  case.  Captain  Frederick 
Marryat,  author  of ' '  The  Adventures  of  a  Naval  Officer, 
relates  that  at  one  time  he  jumped  into  the  sea  to  save  a 
sailor's  life,  and,  on  rising,  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
blood,  giving  evidence  of  the  presence  of  a  shark.     Be- 


THE    SUBCONSCIOUS  MIND.  45 

tween  that  moment  and  the  moment,  almost  immediately 
following,  when  he  was  rescued,  he  re-experienced,  ac- 
cording to  his  story, — and  the  same  thing  in  effect  has 
been  reported  by  many  others, — about  everything  that 
he  had  ever  done  or  said  or  thought.  Coleridge  states, 
in  his  "Biographia  Literaria,"  that  in  a  German  vil- 
lage near  Gottingen  a  young  woman,  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  was  seized  with 
a  fever.  While  in  this  state  she  kept  constantly  repeat- 
ing Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew.  Her  physician,  being  of 
a  scientific  turn,  traced  back  her  history.  He  found  that 
she  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the  house  of  a  Protestant 
pastor.  This  man  had  been  in  the  habit,  while  walking 
up  and  down  in  a  passage  into  which  the  kitchen  opened, 
of  reading  in  a  loud  voice  Latin,  Greek,  and  rabbinical 
Hebrew.  Many  of  the  very  phrases  which  the  physican 
had  taken  down  in  writing  at  her  bedside  were  found 
in  the  rabbinical  books  in  this  man's  library. 

Results  analogous  to  these  —  occasioned,  as  will  be 
noticed,  in  the  one  case  by  fright  and  in  the  other  by 
fever — may  be  produced  by  hypnotism.  This  may  be 
described  as  a  method  of  putting  the  conscious  body  and, 
through  it,  the  conscious  mind  to  sleep.  When  this  has 
been  done,  the  subconscious  mind  may  be  made  to  wake 
up,  and  to  take  charge  of  the  body's  organs  of  expres- 
sion. But  there  is  no  proof  that  hypnotism  does  any 
more  than  furnish  an  opportunity,  availing  itself  of  which 
the  subconscious  mind  can  exercise  its  influence  in  a  way 
normal  to  itself,  yet  not  ordinarily  observed  because  hid- 
den behind  the  activities  of  the  conscious  mind.  The 
germs  of  thought  from  which  the  conceptions  of  the 
hypnotic  patient  are  developed  are  often  very  elementary 
in  character.      Subjects  possessing  no  oratorical  gifts,  for 


46  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

instance,  are  told  to  personate  some  famous  public 
speaker,  and  at  once  they  set  out,  and,  with  apparent 
ease,  deliver  addresses  closely  resembling,  either  in 
method  or  phraseology,  some  speech  of  this  man  which 
they  have  previously  heard  or  read,  though  only  in  an 
extremely  superficial  and  heedless  way. 

This  subconscious  mental  action  is  not  confined,  how- 
ever, to  memory.  Skill  in  any  department  is  a  result  of 
practice  continued  until  the  mind  has  become  enabled 
to  superintend  a  large  number  of  details  without  having 
any  of  them  clearly  in  consciousness.  Every  musician, 
for  instance,  is  aware  that  after  repeating  a  composition, 
as  on  the  piano,  the  execution  may  become  so  familiar 
that  his  fingers  will  play  it  automatically,  as  it  were, 
while  his  thoughts  are  very  intently  fixed  upon  something 
else,  possibly  upon  the  general  expression  of  the  piece, 
possibly  upon  something  having  nothing  to  do  with  music 
in  any  form. 

When  the  subconscious  action  of  the  mind  takes  place 
in  connection  with  processes  which  a  man  has  learned 
and  mastered,  we  may  always  attribute  it,  as  we  do  recol- 
lection, to  previous  conscious  action.  But  there  are  cases 
in  which  previous  conscious  action  has  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  subconscious  action.  As  illustrating  what  is 
meant,  take  first  the  cases  of  lightning  calculators,  as 
they  are  termed — many  of  them  mere  children,  who  have 
hardly  mastered  reading  and  writing,  much  less  arith- 
metic. In  a  way  apparently  unknown  to  themselves, 
they  are  able  to  solve  the  most  intricate  mathematical 
problem  almost  as  rapidly  as  it  can  be  read  to  them. 
Zerah  Coburn  was  but  eight  years  old  when  exhibited 
before  audiences  of  the  foremost  mathematicians  of  his 
time.      Here,  according  to  the   English  "Annual  Regis- 


THE   SUBCONSCIOUS  MIND.  47 

ter  "  of  1812,  are  two  of  the  questions  asked  him,  and 
answered  before  the  numbers  could  be  written  down: 
"What  is  the  square  root  of  106,929?"  "What  is  the 
cube  root  of  268,336,125?  "  So  with  questions  that  can 
be  solved  by  logic.  Those  acquainted  with  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  subconscious  mind,  as  disclosed  by  hyp- 
notic influences,  believe  themselves  to  have  reasons  for 
holding  that  all  mental  processes  are  developed  in  it 
with  flawless  precision.  The  results  are  like  those  com- 
ing from  a  perfectly  constructed  automatic  machine. 
The  germ,  however,  which  is  thus  developed,  is,  as  a 
rule,  suggested  from  the  outside,  usually  by  the  hyp- 
notiser,  and  if  the  premise  be  false,  the  conclusions  of 
the  subconscious  logic  will  be  false.  Still  more  remark- 
able, perhaps,  are  the  results  of  the  subconscious  in  music. 
Mozart  was  only  three  years  old  when  he  began  to  play 
in  public  concerts,  and  when  only  eight  years  old  he  had 
composed  a  symphony  for  a  full  orchestra.  He  was, 
however,  the  son  of  a  musician,  and  his  facility  might  be 
attributed  to  some  extent  to  his  surroundings  or  to 
heredity.  But  neither  of  these  reasons  can  in  any  way 
account  for  the  performances  of  others.  For  instance, 
in  our  own  country,  there  was  Blind  Tom,  as  he  was 
called.  He  was  an  exceptionally  ignorant  negro,  yet 
he  could  remember  and  execute,  apparently,  anything 
that  was  played  but  once  before  him,  and,  sometimes, 
without  a  moment's  preparation,  he  could  add  to  this 
variations  as  successful  as  the  average  of  those  result- 
ing from  long  hours  of  labour  on  the  part  of  educated 
musicians. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  make  clear  what  is  meant  by 
action  which  has  its  source  in  the  subconscious  as  dis- 
tinguished    from    the    conscious    mind.      Nor    will    any 


48  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

explanations  be  needed  to  cause  us  to  associate  with  the 
subconscious  source,  mainly  but  not  exclusively,  those 
results  of  inspiration  which,  through  the  spirit,  are  sup- 
posed to  influence  us  in  religion,  or  to  associate  with  the 
conscious  source,  mainly  but  not  exclusively,  those  re- 
sults of  investigation  concerning  the  material  world  which 
are  supposed  to  influence  us  in  science.  When  we  con- 
sider art,  we  invariably  associate  it  with  the  results  of 
imagination.  But  imagination,  in  its  primary,  though 
not  in  its  secondary  processes,  always  necessitates  two 
things. — first,  a  conception  coming  from  the  mind  within  ; 
and,  second,  a  form  selected  from  the  world  without, 
through  which  to  image  the  conception.  The  conception, 
so  far  as  minds  are  not  conscious  of  its  having  form,  must 
be  attributed  to  the  subconscious ;  in  fact,  is  it  not  often 
spoken  of  as  an  inspiration  ?  The  form  selected  must  be 
attributed  to  the  external  world  with  which  one  becomes 
acquainted  through  observation.  Art,  therefore,  seems  to 
involve  about  equally  subconscious  inspiration  as  exem- 
plified in  works  of  genius,  and  conscious  investigation  or 
observation  as  exemplified  in  works  of  imitation.  What 
is  termed  a  religious  thought  cannot  become  artistic  until 
imagination  has  presented  it  in  a  form  which  manifests 
both  observation  of  external  appearances,  and  also  in- 
formation with  reference  to  them  as  accurate,  in  some 
regards,  as  are  those  of  science.  Nor  can  a  scientific 
conception  become  artistic  before  imagination  has  haloed 
it  about  with  suggestions  as  inspired,  in  some  regards, 
as  are  those  of  religion. 

To  illustrate  these  differences  more  in  detail,  the  essen- 
tial matter  in  religion  is  that  the  material  forms  of  ex- 
pression shall  always  be  subordinate  to  the  promptings  of 
the  higher  spiritual   nature.      When    this    is   the  case,  a 


RELIGION  AND  ART.  49 

man's  mental  attitude,  as  it  appeals  to  his  own  mind  or 
is  expressed  to  others,  is  characterised  by  faith;  and  it 
often,  by  way  of  contrast,  appears  to  be  characterised  by 
this  the  more,  in  the  degree  in  which  his  methods  of 
speech  or  of  action  are  not  subordinate  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, antagonistic  to  outward,  or  to  what  we  ordinarily 
term  practical,  requirements, — in  the  degree  in  which, 
for  all  that  he  can  see  or  hear  in  the  world  about  him, 
his  course  may  lead  to  disparagement,  persecution,  and, 
in  ages  of  martyrdom,  to  death.  In  art  the  conditions 
are  different.  It  involves  no  necessary  subordination  of 
the  conscious  to  the  subconscious.  There  is  always  a 
co-operation  between  the  two,  in  which  sometimes  the 
one  seems  the  more  prominent  and  sometimes  the  other, 
but  in  no  case  does  the  mind  fail  to  be  conscious  of  ex- 
ternal and  material  surroundings,  or  to  aim  at  conformity 
to  these.  It  is  the  essential  condition  of  art  that  it  should 
manifest  this  conformity;  that  it  should  produce  a  dra- 
matic imitation,  a  melody,  a  metaphor,  a  picture,  a  statue, 
a  building,  whatever  it  may  be,  which  in  some  way  em- 
phasises the  influence  of  these  surroundings.  To  religion, 
emphasis  placed  on  these  would  often  prove  fatal.  Re- 
ligious effects  are  seldom  produced  by  what  are  recog- 
nised clearly  to  be  copies  of  mere  forms.  A  Christian 
man  through  his  conduct,  and  a  church  through  its  ser- 
vices, may  represent  the  Christian  life,  but  the  moment 
that  the  representative  element  in  either  is  emphasised, 
the  moment  that  it  is  brought  to  our  attention  that  the 
man's  actions,  attitudes,  or  facial  and  vocal  expressions 
are  assumed  for  the  purpose  of  representing,  he  sug- 
gests to  us  a  Pharisee,  if  not  a  hypocrite.  With  art  it 
is  the  opposite.  Its  object  is  to  represent;  and  the 
actor   upon    the   stage,  or  any   imitator   of  real   life   as 


50  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

delineated  in  the  drama  or  the  novel,  or  depicted  in  the 
picture  or  the  statue,  awakens  our  approval  in  the  exact 
degree  of  the  unmistakably  representative  character  of 
his  performance. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose,  however,  that  art, 
because  different  from  religion,  is  antagonistic  to  it. 
The  truth  is  just  the  contrary.  It  can  be  said,  almost 
without  qualification,  that  in  all  times  of  extreme  tradi- 
tionalism and  unenlightenment  art  has  proved  the  only 
agency  that,  without  offending  ignorance  and  superstition, 
has  been  able  to  counterbalance  their  influence.  It  has 
done  this  by  using  the  forms  of  nature,  and  contenting 
itself  with  the  truth  as  represented  in  them.  Guised  in 
familiar  aspects,  appealing  to  the  mind  by  way  of  sug. 
gestion  which  leaves  the  imagination  free  to  surmise  or  to 
deduce  whatever  inference  may  appeal  to  it,  the  thoughts 
expressed  in  art  do  not,  as  a  rule,  repel  even  the  most 
prejudiced,  or  excite  their  opposition.  A  man  in  Italy, 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  would  have  been  sent  to  the 
stake  if  he  had  made  a  plain  statement  to  the  effect  that 
a  pope  could  be  kept  in  hell,  or  a  pagan  admitted  to  para- 
dise. Yet  when  Dante  pictured  both  conditions  in  his 
great  poem,  how  few  questioned  his  orthodoxy  !  So  with 
the  themes  of  painting  and  of  sculpture.  What  a  rebuke 
to  the  bigotry  and  the  cruelty  of  the  Middle  Ages  were 
the  countless  products  of  the  arts  of  those  periods,  plead- 
ing constantly  to  the  eye  against  the  savage  customs  of 
the  times  for  the  sweet  but  little-practised  virtues  of 
justice  and  charity!  Within  our  own  century,  too,  not- 
withstanding the  traditions  of  society,  the  State  and  the 
Church,  which  have  often  exerted  all  their  powers  to  up- 
hold and  perpetuate  slavery,  aristocracy,  and  sectarianism, 
recall  how  the  modern  novel  chiefly,  but  assisted  largely 


SCIENCE  AND  ART.  5  I 

by  the  modern  picture,  has  not  only  changed  the  whole 
trend  of  the  world's  thought  with  reference  to  these  sys- 
tems, but  has  contributed,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
single  cause,  to  the  practical  reorganization  of  them,  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  enlightened  intelligence. 
Notice,  too,  that  this  influence  of  art  extends  to  the 
whole  region  covered  by  religion,  whether  pertaining  to 
this  world  or  to  the  next.  In  ages  like  our  own,  when 
men  rely  chiefly  upon  the  guidance  of  the  conscious  mind, 
it  is  extremely  difficult  for  them  to  be  brought  to  realise 
that  there  is  any  trustworthy  guidance  attributable  to  the 
action  of  the  subconscious  mind.  Art  does  not  discuss 
this  guidance,  but  presupposes  it.  Through  the  results 
of  the  subconscious  mind  coalescing  with  those  of  the 
conscious  mind  it  everywhere  surrounds  the  material  with 
the  halo  of  the  spiritual,  causing  those  who  will  not  even 
acknowledge  the  existence  of  the  latter,  to  enter  upon  a 
practical  experience  of  it  in  ideas,  and  to  accept,  when 
appearing  in  the  guise  of  imagination,  what  they  would 
reject  if  presented  in  its  own  lineaments.  So  the  artist, 
though  not  a  seer,  always  has  within  him  the  possibility 
of  being  the  seer's  assistant. 

Now  let  us  notice  the  difference  between  science  and 
art.  Science  has  to  do  with  investigation  tending  to 
knozvledge,  both  which  we  associate  almost  entirely  with 
the  action  of  the  conscious  mind.  Art  has  to  do  with 
imagination  tending  to  ideality,  both  which  necessitate 
more  or  less  action  of  the  subconscious  mind.  It  must 
not  be  supposed,  however,  that  science  has  absolutely  no 
connection  with  these  latter.  "Students  of  science," 
says  Herbert  Spencer,  "are  liable  to  forget  that  informa- 
tion, however  extensive  it  may  become,  can  never  satisfy 
inquiry.     Positive  knowledge  does  not  and  never  can  fill 


52  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

the  whole  region  of  possible  thought.  At  the  uttermost 
limit  of  discovery,  there  arises,  and  must  ever  arise,  the 
question;  What  lies  beyond?"  When  this  question  is 
asked,  no  mind  can  even  begin  to  answer  it,  save  one 
that  is  able  to  carry  forward  subconsciously  the  same 
mental  process  which,  up  to  this  time,  it  has  carried  on 
consciously.  How  do  we  know  this  fact?  From  the  re- 
sults. According  to  an  old  story,  which  may  or  may  not 
be  true,  a  Newton  sees  an  apple  fall  to  the  ground,  and, 
by  a  subconscious,  but,  as  indicated  on  page  47,  a  strictly 
logical  process,  a  conception  with  reference  to  the  law  of 
gravitation  emerges,  which  conception  we  refer  to  im- 
agination or  inspiration. 

At  the  same  time  the  most  important  part  of  the  work 
of  science  must  be  done  in  the  conscious  region,  other- 
wise the  subconscious  mind  will  not  argue  from  corrtct 
premises  nor  reach  correct  results.  Before  exercising 
imagination,  science  must  analyse,  if  possible,  every  part 
of  every  effect  that  it  observes,  and  every  condition  in 
time  or  space  that  has  preceded  it.  In  art  these  pro- 
cesses are  not  necessary.  The  effect  can  be  accepted  as 
a  whole,  and  just  as  it  appears  at  the  time  of  observation. 
"There  are  in  all  considerable  objects,"  says  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  when  discussing  this  subject  in  the  eleventh 
of  his  "Discourses  on  the  Art  of  Painting,"  "great  char- 
acteristic distinctions  which  press  strongly  on  the  senses 
and  therefore  fix  the  imagination.  These  are  by  no 
means,  as  some  persons  think,  an  aggregate  of  all  the 
small  discriminating  particulars;  nor  will  such  an  accu- 
mulation of  particulars  ever  express  them."  The  reason 
why  art  makes  and  uses  what  might  be  termed  these 
"snap  judgments"  is  obvious.  It  is  a  development  of 
the  earliest  effects  of  nature  upon  the  mind,  especially 


IMAGINATION  IN  ART.  53 

upon  the  mind's  methods  of  expression.  In  other  words, 
art  is  a  development  of  the  earliest  endeavour  of  men  to 
give  form  to  thought  for  which  they  have  no  form  at 
their  command.  It  is  not  at  the  command  of  the  savage 
or  of  the  child,  simply  because  no  form  appropriate  has 
come,  as  yet,  within  the  very  limited  range  of  his  ex- 
perience or  information.  It  is  not  always  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  cultivated  man,  because,  often,  all  forms 
with  which  he  is  acquainted  seem  to  be  inadequate.  Ac- 
cordingly the  uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  alike  are 
impelled  to  originate  expressions  for  themselves.  In 
doing  this,  they  are  obliged  to  interpret  nature  in  a  cer- 
tain way.  They  must  think  about  that  which  they  have 
observed,  and  before  they  have  had  time  to  examine  it 
critically,  through  the  exercise  of  their  conscious  powers, 
they  must  judge  of  it  instinctively  through  the  exercise 
of  their  unconscious  promptings.  This  principle  applies, 
not  only  to  their  use,  for  purposes  of  expression,  of  im- 
aginative words  and  imitative  drawings,  but  to  their 
whole  methods  of  conceiving  of  the  material  world.  The 
boy  hears  of  a  sailor  or  of  a  general,  and  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  has  had  no  experience  of  the  life  led  by 
either,  he  imagines  it,  and  the  man  in  the  same  condition 
surmises  what  might  be  the  experience  of  a  fairy  or  of  a 
saint.     As  Shakespeare  says  : 

The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v.,  /. 

Or,  if  Shakespeare  belonged  to  an  unscientific  age,  let 


54  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

us  see  what  a  poet  of  our  own  age  has  to  say  on  the  same 
subject : 

Well  might  we  be  glad 
Lifted  above  the  ground  by  airy  fancies 
More  bright  than  madness  or  the  dreams  of  wine  ; 
And,  though  full  oft  the  objects  of  our  love 
Were  false,  and  in  their  splendour  overwrought, 
Yet  was  there  surely  then  no  vulgar  power 
Working  within  us, — nothing  less,  in  truth, 
Than  that  most  noble  attribute  of  man, 
Though  yet  untutored  and  inordinate, 
That  wish  for  something  loftier,  more  adorned, 
Than  is  the  common  aspect,  daily  garb, 
Of  human  life. 

The  Prelude,  v.  :    Wordsworth. 

Between  the  man  who  has  the  conception  of  the  things 
surrounding  him  that  is  represented  in  this  passage  and 
the  man  who  has  not,  there  is  the  widest  possible  differ- 
ence. The  former,  to  quote  from  Wordsworth  again,  is 
characterised  by 

a  mind 

That  feeds  upon  infinity,  that  broods 

Over  the  dark  abyss,  intent  to  hear 

Its  voices  issuing  forth  to  silent  light 

In  one  continuous  stream  ;  a  mind  sustained 

By  recognitions  of  transcendent  power, 

In  sense  conducting  to  ideal  form. 

The  Prelude,  xiv.  :    Wordsworth. 

The  latter — the  man  of  no  imagination — passes  through 
life  in  the  condition  described  in  "Peter  Bell  "  : 

He  travelled  here,  he  tiavelled  there  ; — 
But  not  the  value  of  a  hair 
Was  heart  or  head  the  better. 

He  roved  among  the  vales  and  streams. 
In  the  green  wood  and  hollow  dell. 


IMAGINATION  AND   EXCITEMENT.  55 

They  were  his  dwellings  night  and  day, 
But  Nature  ne'er  could  find  the  way 
Into  the  heart  of  Peter  Bell. 

In  vain  through  every  changeful  year 
Did  Nature  lead  him  as  before  : 
A  primrose  by  the  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him. 
And  it  was  nothing  more. 

Peter  Bell :    Wordsworth. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  mind  in 
following  the  lead  of  these  instinctive  promptings  from 
the  subconscious  is  invariably  deluded.  It  is  often  guided 
aright.  It  is  exercising  with  reference  to  apparent  facts 
the  same  general  method  that  science  itself  is  obliged  to 
exercise  with  reference  to  investigated  facts.  As  inti- 
mated on  page  47,  the  subconscious  processes  of  mind 
which  underlie  the  ideality  of  imagination  are  often,  in 
the  highest  sense,  logical  and  rational.  Frequently,  the 
difference  between  the  artistic  and  scientific  method  might 
be  said  to  be  owing  merely  to  the  different  degrees  of 
rapidity  with  which  the  mind  is  moving.  This  fact  will 
be  evident  upon  recalling  the  condition  usually  accom- 
panying the  mind's  imaginative  and,  therefore,  partially 
subconscious  actions.  It  will  be  found  to  be  a  condition 
of  emotive  excitement.  Listen  to  the  children  as  they 
watch  a  display  of  fireworks.  With  what  facility  they 
recognise  resemblances !  Roosters,  churches,  fans  and 
fountains, — these  are  what  they  imagine  to  be  in  shapes 
suggesting  nothing  to  their  parents.  Yet  when  some 
excitement  strong  enough  to  appeal  to  these  latter  has 
succeeded  in  moving  them,  they,  too,  will  become  unex- 
pectedly imaginative.  As  for  the  intelligent  artist,  there 
is  reason  to  suppose  that  imaginative  results  in  his  case, 


$6  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

also,  are  owing  to  mental  action  too  rapid  for  him  to  be 
conscious  of  all  its  processes.  This  fact,  indeed,  is  often 
very  effectively  represented  in  artistic  products,  especially 
in  literature,  the  words  of  which  are  particularly  fitted  to 
reveal  exactly  what  is  taking  place  in  the  thoughts  to 
which  the  words  give  expression.  Recall  the  ellipses  and 
consequent  obscurity  in  which  writers  like  Carlyle  and 
Browning  indulge.  In  almost  every  instance  where  ob- 
scurity of  this  kind  is  observable,  some  additional  reflec- 
tion would  have  enabled  the  writer  to  recall  and  to  reveal 
the  missing  links  of  thought,  and  thus  to  give  his  expres- 
sions the  effects  of  critical  precision.  In  many  cases  we 
may  criticise  his  not  doing  this.  But  had  he  done  it  in 
all  cases,  would  the  result  have  been  as  artistic  as  it  is? 
Thus  expressed,  would  it  not  have  represented  a  concep- 
tion in  all  of  its  details  clearly  present  to  the  conscious 
mind?  But  art,  as  we  have  found,  represents  a  concep- 
tion of  a  part  of  which  the  mind  is  conscious  and  of  a 
part  of  which,  because  due  to  subconscious  influence,  the 
mind  is  not  conscious.  Thus  this  effect  of  obscurity, 
so  often  recognised  as  being  for  some  vague  reason  par- 
ticularly artistic,  is  seen  to  be  so  because  it  accords  ex- 
actly with  the  requirements  of  art. 

Now,  taking  one  step  farther  backward,  let  us  find  out, 
if  we  can,  the  conditions  which,  in  the  artist,  occasion 
the  emotion  which  in  turn  occasions  a  manifestation  in 
expression  of  the  results  of  subconscious  mental  action. 
What  gives  rise  to  this  emotion?  If  it  were  experienced 
only  now  and  then,  it  might  be  attributed  to  exceptional 
circumstances.  The  works  of  the  lesser  or  occasional 
artists  are  produced  amid  excitement  which  at  intervals 
avails  in  all  to  paralyse  the  logical  powers  and  to  stimu- 
late the  analogical.      But  when,  as  in  the  greater  artists, 


EMOTION  IN   THE  ARTIST.  57 

such  phases  of  emotion  are  the  rule  and  not  the  exception, 
then  the  experience  must  be  attributed  mainly  to  temper- 
ament. This  is  a  word  which,  as  will  be  noticed,  does  not 
refer  merely  to  physique,  but  to  a  certain  kind  of  mental 
action  which  naturally  accompanies  a  blending  of  effects, 
some  of  which  are  physical  and  some  mental,  some  of 
which  are  matters  of  nervous  sensation,  and  some  mat- 
ters of  thought.  Lord  Karnes,  in  his  "Elements  of 
Criticism,"  says  that  "thought,  as  prompted  by  passion 
or  feeling,  is  sentiment."  According  to  Schiller,  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  Goethe,  "it  is  a  want  of  the  poetic 
nature,  not  to  say  of  the  human  mind  generally,  to  bear 
around  it  as  little  as  possible  that  is  void,  to  appropriate 
to  itself,  through  feeling,  as  much  as  is  going  on.  .  .  . 
Always  is  the  sentimental — in  a  good  sense — an  effect  of 
the  poetic  endeavour." 

A  slight  attempt  to  recall  the  foremost  trait  of  expres- 
sion distinguishing  any  man  who  has  given  himself  to  the 
study  and  production  of  art  will  verify  by  facts  this  con- 
clusion of  Schiller.  Is  it  not  true  that  artists  and  poets, 
and  often  even  mere  admirers  of  music,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, or  poetry,  are  persons  given  above  all  things  to 
sentiment?  Can  we  not  perceive  this  sometimes  in  their 
very  gaits  and  gestures,  in  the  involuntary  waverings  of 
their  lips,  in  the  unconscious  bewilderment  of  their  eyes? 
Does  not  the  very  sight  of  them  often  make  us  feel  that 
they  are  men  who  have  been  exhilarated,  if  not  intoxi- 
cated, by  drinking  in  thoughts  that  brim  above  the  com- 
monplace; that  they  are  men  whose  moods  are  loyal  to 
an  all-pervading  sovereignty  of  soul?  Can  we  not  often 
detect,  behind  all  that  they  do  or  say,  the  spiritual  force 
of  unseen  ideality,  the  unselfishness  of  non-material  pur- 
pose, the  virtue  of  uncompelled  industry,  the  enthusiasm 


58  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

that  revels  amid  dim  twilights  of  inquiry  and  starry  mid- 
nights of  aspiration?  How  different  is  their  mien  from 
that  of  those  who  manifest  none  of  their  vaguer,  softer 
qualities,  but  pride  themselves  upon  the  fact  that  they 
are  sharp !  And,  verily,  too  often  they  are  sharp,  their 
very  visages  whittled  to  a  point  like  snow-ploughs  on  a 
wintry  track  that  always  draw  attention  downward  and 
cleave  through  paths  that  chill.  The  brightness  of  their 
eyes  is  that  of  diamonds  that  are  used  only  to  cut,  the 
summons  of  their  voices  that  of  trumpets  that  are  ever 
blowing  of  their  own  sufficiency.  No  radiance  of  a  spirit- 
ual light  that  streams  from  inward  visions,  is  haloed  from 
the  one.  No  call  toward  a  sphere  too  subtle  to  be 
heralded  by  aught  except  "the  still  small  voice  "  is 
echoed  from  the  other.  What  is  lacking  in  the  methods 
of  mental  action  of  men  like  these,  as  every  one  who 
knows  the  highest  possibilities  of  art  can  testify,  is  the 
kind  of  culture  which  leads  to  the  conception  within  and 
the  expression  without  of  sentiment — not  sentimentality, 
which  is  always  selfish,  as  well  as  a  caricature,  and  an 
effect  not  based  upon  facts;  but  vigorous  manly  senti- 
ment, something  rooted  deep  in  common-sense  but  yet 
not  common  ;  rather  its  uncommon  development  when 
the  material  branch  and  leaf,  grown  upward,  burst  into 
that  which  sheds  the  fragrance  of  the  spirit's  flower. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ARTISTIC    RESULTS   AS   DETERMINED   BY  TEMPERAMENT, 
TRAINING,    PRACTICE,    AND    SKILL. 

How  the  Artistic  Differs  from  the  Scientific  Mind  —  Some  Unfitted  by 
Nature  to  become  Artists — The  Effect  of  Education  in  Training 
Ability  to  Use  what  has  been  Stored  in  the  Mind — Ability  to  Use  this 
Depends  on  the  Physical  Power  of  the  Brain — This  can  be  Developed 
by  Practice — This  Development  can  Extend  to  that  which  Involves  the 
Possession  of  Genius — Training  Affects  the  Quality  of  Subject-Matter 
as  well  as  of  Style — The  Ability  to  Give  Expression  to  Subconscious 
Inspiration  which  Characterises  Genius  is  also  Due  to  Skill  Acquired 
by  Practice — Subconscious  Powers  can  be  Cultivated  through  Training 
the  Conscious,  as  in  the  Case  of  Memory — Of  Critical  Ability — The 
Degree  of  Work  is  Apt  to  Measure  the  Degree  of  Worth — Any  Devel- 
opment in  the  Mind  may  Contribute  to  Artistic  Development. 

CUCH  a  conclusion  as  the  one  drawn  at  the  end  of  the 
preceding  chapter  suggests  that  we  have,  probably, 
reached  at  last  an  ultimate  fact  beyond  which  analysis 
cannot  go.  It  is  the  ground  on  which  was  based  that  old 
expression:  "The  poet  is  born  and  not  made."  Lest, 
however,  we  exaggerate  the  differences  between  men  thus 
indicated,  let  us  try  to  ascertain  precisely  what  that  tem- 
perament is  which  may  be  rightly  termed  artistic.  From 
what  has  been  said  already,  we  must  infer  that,  primarily, 
it  is  one  that  is  quick  in  apprehending  effects  of  nature, 
in  making  comparisons  between  these  effects,  and  in 
drawing  surmisals  from  them.  All  children,  because 
their  brains  are  active,  are  artistic  in  their  tendencies. 

59 


60  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

The  very  essence  of  artistic  imitation  is  mimicry;  and 
what  child  is  entirely  destitute  of  this?  When  men  arrive 
at  maturity,  the  artistic  mind,  as  distinguished  from  the 
scientific,  continues  to  form  theories  before  it  reasons 
them  out,  and  to  imagine  truth  before  it  investigates.  If 
one  naturally  of  an  artistic  temperament  ever  does  reach 
results  that  are  scientific,  this  term  "scientific"  cannot 
be  applied  to  the  movement  of  his  mind  preparatory  to 
these.  Instead  of  advancing  step  by  step  toward  his 
end,  he  first  jumps  to  his  conclusions,  as  Newton  is  said 
to  have  done  when,  from  the  falling  of  an  apple,  he  sur- 
mised the  law  of  gravitation;  and  then  turns  backward 
to  discover  and  reveal  what  might  have  been  the  inter- 
vening steps.  Notice,  nevertheless,  that  this  method  of 
mental  action  is  that  which  is  most  allied  to  the  method 
which  the  world  usually  attributes  to  genius.  The  artist 
works  almost  exclusively  in  this  way,  so  the  world  sup- 
poses that  he  must  be  a  genius  necessarily.  The  scien- 
tific man  has  very  much  to  do  besides  surmising  and 
inventing;  so  the  world  confines  the  title  genius  to  the 
few  scientific  minds  pre-eminent  in  doing  these  latter. 

However,  all  men  have  emotion.  All  may  be  strongly 
moved,  and,  in  such  circumstances,  the  minds  of  all  may 
be  subject  to  subconscious  action.  But  when  we  try  to 
answer  the  question, — To  what  extent  may  one  as  com- 
pared with  another  be  subject  to  this?  we  find  the  dif- 
ferences between  men  almost  world-wide.  We  must 
conclude,  therefore,  that  large  numbers  are  by  nature 
excluded  from  the  sphere  of  action  of  the  artist.  They 
are  too  cautious,  too  much  under  the  control  of  conscious- 
ness, or,  as  we  say,  self-consciousness,  to  give  themselves 
up  to  the  abandon  of  subconscious  mental  activity.  The} 
are  like  those  whom  Mozart  had  in  mind  when  he  said ; 


FIG.  5.— LEAVING    FOR  WORK-  -J.   F.   MILLET. 
See  pages  89,  go,  95,  97,  190. 

61 


62  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

"If  you  think  how  you  are  to  write,  you  will  never  write 
anything  worth  hearing.  I  write  because  I  cannot  help 
it."  They  are  like  orators — and,  for  that  matter,  sculp- 
tors and  musicians — who  never  lose  themselves  in  their 
subjects,  and,  therefore,  never  become  effective.  It 
might  be  almost  said  that  faith  in  the  results  of  that 
which  is  beyond  the  sphere  of  consciousness  enables  one 
to  reach  the  aesthetic  paradise  no  less  than  the  heavenly. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  easy  to  emphasise  unduly  the 
natural  differences  between  men.  It  is  easy  to  suppose 
that  one  has  no  artistic  ability,  when  in  reality  he  has  a 
great  deal  of  it.  Very  often,  though  latently  present,  it 
has  merely  not  been  brought  to  the  light.  It  is  easy, 
therefore,  to  ignore  the  methods  through  which  whatever 
artistic  possibilities  one  may  possess  may  be  cultivated. 
These  methods  may  be  best  understood,  if  we  start  with 
a  conception  of  the  influence  upon  mental  action  of  edu- 
cation in  general.  From  this  conception  the  transition 
will  be  easy  to  that  of  the  particular  effect  upon  educa- 
tion produced  by  art-study.  The  word  education  is 
composed  of  the  two  Latin  words,  e,  meaning  from  or 
out  of,  and  ducere,  meaning  to  lead.  But  why  should  to 
educate  mean  to  lead  from  or  out  of?  Is  it  possible  to 
ask  this  question  without  having  suggested  what  was  said 
on  page  44?  It  was  there  noticed  that  all  that  we  con- 
sciously experience  through  the  agency  either  of  the 
physical  senses  or  of  psychological  intellection  passes  into 
the  mind's  regions  of  subconsciousness.  Here,  though 
much  appears  to  be  lost,  probably  nothing  actually  is 
lost.  That  it  always  remains  seems  to  be  abundantly 
proved  by  the  results  of  abnormal  excitation,  as  in  fright, 
fever,  and  hypnotism.  If  this  be  so,  the  problem  of 
education  has  to  do  not  with   the  methods  of  obtaining 


ARTISTIC    TRAINING.  63 

information  from  without,  so  much  as  of  bringing  back 
to  consciousness  information  already  stored  within.  The 
mind  that  is  best  able  to  bring  this  back  at  the  right 
times  and  places,  is  the  best  educated. 

Now  on  what  does  the  ability  of  the  mind  to  do  this 
depend?  There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  it  depends 
largely  upon  the  quality  and  comparative  strength  of  the 
physical  brain  through  which  one  does  his  work.  It  is 
said  that  the  brains  of  Daniel  Webster  and  of  Amos 
Lawrence,  a  successful  merchant  of  Boston,  both  of  whom 
died  about  the  same  time,  were  compared,  and  were 
found  to  be  of  very  nearly  the  same  size  and  weight,  but 
the  convolutions  in  the  brain  of  Webster  were  found  to 
be  more  numerous.  That  is  to  say,  his  brain  was  of  finer 
physical  fibre.  That  mental  ability  depends  upon  the 
physical  strength  of  the  brain  may  be  shown  in  another 
way.  Give  a  small  child  a  message  to  deliver,  and  he 
will  bring  it  up  to  consciousness  with  difficulty,  hesitat- 
ing between  almost  every  word.  "  My  mother — wishes 
— wishes — me — to — to  " — etc.  But  the  same  child  after 
a  year  or  two,  when  older  and  stronger  physically,  will 
experience  little  of  this  difficulty,  and,  after  attaining 
manhood,  none  whatever,  even  though  the  communica- 
tion to  be  recalled  be  a  thousand  times  more  complex. 

It  is  not,  however,  merely  the  passage  of  time  and  its 
influence  upon  growth  that  can  strengthen  our  physical 
powers.  The  same  effect  may  be  produced  by  training, 
especially  by  that  form  of  it  which  we  give  to  ourselves 
through  practice.  We  know  this  to  be  true  as  applied  to 
our  hands  and  voices.  Why  should  it  not  be  true  as 
applied  to  our  brains?  But  notice  that  if  it  be  true  as 
applied  to  these,  and  if  all  that  was  said  in  the  last  para- 
graph be  also  true,  then  training  can  do  much  more  for 


64  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  sESTHETICS. 

artistic  development  than  some  suppose.  It  can  produce 
facility  not  only  in  outward  expression,  giving  the  singer, 
orator,  or  actor  a  flexible  voice  or  a  graceful  body,  or 
the  musician,  painter,  or  sculptor  dexterity  in  the  use  of 
fingers,  brush,  or  chisel.  It  can  produce  facility  in  the 
processes  of  inward  preparation  for  expression,  enabling 
the  mind  to  draw  at  will  from  the  subconscious  resources 
that  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  artistic  invention  and 
inspiration. 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  no  amount  of  practice  can 
enable  some  to  become  artists,  and  that  in  exceptional 
cases  or  upon  extraordinary  occasions  some  may  produce 
genuine  works  of  art  who  have  practised  little;  but,  as  a 
rule,  practice  is  indispensable  if  one  wish  to  attain  the 
characteristics  supposed  to  be  possessed  habitually  by 
the  great  artists.  We  find  this  fact  illustrated  almost 
universally.  Of  course,  there  are  a  few  exceptional  cases 
like  that  of  Mozart,  mentioned  on  page  47.  For  him, 
notwithstanding  the  instruction  that  he  received,  practice 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  absolutely  indispensable. 
And  it  was  not  so,  say  some,  because  he  was  a  genius. 
But  let  us  think  a  moment.  Might  he  not  have  been  a 
genius,  and  also  have  been  obliged  to  cultivate  his  powers? 
In  fact,  in  later  life,  did  he  not  cultivate  them?  Again, 
was  not  Beethoven  a  genius?  Yet  when  he  was  three 
years  old  he  knew  nothing,  so  far  as  we  are  aware,  of 
music;  and  very  little  when  he  was  eight.  But  after  he 
had  practised  many  hours  a  day  for  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
he  could  do  as  well  as  Mozart  could  in  early  manhood; 
and  not  only  so,  but  a  few  years  later  he  could  do  better 
than  Mozart  ever  could.  Not  a  few  to-day  consider  Bee- 
thoven the  greater  genius  of  the  two. 

What  is  true  of  mu^ic  is  true  of  every  art.     There  was 


ARTISTIC   TRAINING.  65 

Demosthenes.  As  most  of  us  have  heard,  when  he  first 
ventured  before  an  audience,  his  stammering  articulation, 
interrupted  respiration,  ungraceful  gestures,  and  ill-ar- 
ranged periods  brought  upon  him  general  ridicule.  What 
was  it  necessary  for  him  to  do  in  order  to  speak  artist- 
ically? To  think,  every  time  that  he  came  before  the 
public,  of  his  articulation,  respiration,  gestures,  and 
periods?  Had  he  pursued  this  course,  he  never  could 
have  waxed  eloquent,  because  he  never  could  have 
entered  into  his  theme  with  unconscious  abandon.  What 
he  did,  was  to  withdraw  altogether  from  the  public  until, 
by  a  course  of  persistent  practice,  he  had  trained  himself 
for  his  work.  Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  the  results 
in  his  case,  or  in  that  of  any  other  man  practising  simi- 
larly, were  confined,  or  could  be  confined,  to  such  as  can 
be  manifested  merely  in  external  manner  or  style.  Many 
find  the  strongest  indication  of  what  they  term  the  in- 
spired genius  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  his  marvellous 
illustrative  ability,  in  his  imaginative  facility  in  arguing 
from  analogy.  He  himself,  in  his  "Yale  Lectures,"  said 
that  not  only  did  he  practise  elocution  "incessantly  for 
three  years,"  but  that,  while  in  later  life  it  was  as  easy 
for  him  to  use  illustrations  as  to  breathe,  he  did  not  have 
this  power  to  any  such  extent  in  his  early  manhood,  but 
cultivated  it. 

The  problem  of  expressional  art  is  how  to  train  the 
conscious  agencies  of  expression  so  that  they  shall  re- 
spond without  interference  to  the  promptings  of  subcon- 
scious agencies.  The  musician  has  always  practically 
solved  this  problem  when  he  is  pouring  his  whole  soul 
into  his  music,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the  emo- 
tional effect  that  he  desires  to  produce  upon  the  souls  of 
his  hearers.     The  sculptor  and  the  painter  have  always 


66  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

solved  it  when  they  are  projecting  into  line  or  colour, 
unconscious  of  being  hampered  by  any  thought  of  tech- 
nique, that  image  which  keen  observation  of  the  outer 
world  has  impressed  upon  their  conceptions.  The  poet 
has  always  solved  it  when  he  has  lost  himself  in  his 
theme,  unconscious  of  anything  except  that  to  which 
Milton  refers  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  ix.,  when  he  says 
that  it 

— dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 
Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse. 

But,  now,  this  method,  of  which  we  remain  unconscious, 
through  which  thoughts  and  emotions  pass  from  the  sub- 
conscious mind  through  the  conscious  mind,  and  out  of 
it  again  into  the  details  of  form,  is  the  result  of  what 
most  men  mean  when  they  use  the  term  artistic  inspira- 
tion. Yet  notice  that  it  is  often,  too,  even  in  cases  of  the 
most  indisputable  genius,  a  result,  in  part  at  least,  of 
•y/'z'// acquired  by  practice. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that,  although  there  is  a  wide 
separation  between  the  conscious  and  the  subconscious 
powers,  the  mind  as  a  whole  is  one,  and  almost  any 
method  of  cultivating  one  part  of  it  involves  cultivating 
other  parts.  What  forms  of  mental  action  can  seem 
more  widely  separated  than  those  of  memory  and  of 
imagination?  Yet  there  is  truth  in  what  E.  S.  Dallas 
says  in  "The  Gay  Science,"  that  "it  is  not  so  much  to  a 
trained  invention  as  to  a  trained  memory  that  the  poet 
who  seeks  for  variety  must  chiefly  trust;  and  it  will  be 
found  that  all  great  poets,  all  great  artists,  all  great  in- 
ventors, are  men  of  great  memory — their  unconscious 
memory  being  even  greater  than  that  of  which  they  are 
conscious.     And  thus  far,  at  least,  we  can  see  a  deeper 


ARTISTIC    TRAINING.  67 

wisdom    in   the   doctrine  of  the  Greeks  that  the   Muses 
were  all  daughters  of  Mnemosyne." 

Let  it  not  be  thought,  then,  that  education,  experi- 
ence, and  learning  unfit  one  for  those  pursuits  which  are 
usually  supposed  to  necessitate  genius.  Milton  wrote 
little  poetry  until  he  had  finished  his  argumentative  and 
political  work.  Goethe  and  Schiller  both  profited  much 
from  the  discriminating  scientific  criticism  to  which,  as 
appears  in  their  correspondence,  they  were  accustomed 
to  submit  their  productions;  at  all  events,  they  achieved 
their  greatest  successes  subsequent  to  it.  And  with 
criticism  olaying  all  about  his  horizon,  like  lightnings 
from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens,  who  can  calculate  how 
much  of  the  splendour  of  Shakespeare  is  attributable  to 
this  by-play  among  the  circle  of  dramatists  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded?  With  new  forms  rising  still  like  other 
Venuses  above  the  miasmas  of  the  old  Campagna,  who 
can  estimate  how  much  the  excellence  of  the  Italian 
artists  has  been  owing  to  the  opportunities  afforded  in 
historic  Rome  for  critical  study? 

The  results  of  art  have  not  disproved  that  universal 
principle  according  to  which  the  degree  of  labour,  medi- 
ate or  immediate,  generally  measures  the  degree  of 
worth.  A  bountiful  exuberance  of  imagination  usually 
accompanies  abounding  information.  The  analogies  of 
the  poet  are  usually  most  natural  to  the  mind  that  has 
made  the  most  scrupulous  study  of  nature.  Truth, 
comprehensiveness,  and  greatness,  manifested  in  artistic 
products,  are  usually  crystallisations  of  the  accuracy, 
breadth,  and  largeness  of  the  formative  thought  occasion- 
ing- them. 


CHAPTER    V. 

ARTISTIC    FORM   AND    SIGNIFICANCE. 

Review  of  the  Thought  in  Preceding  Chapters — Reproduction  of  Beauty 
Necessitating  Attention  to  both  Form  and  Significance — Meaning  of  the 
Term  "  Form  "  in  Art — Of  the  Term  "  Significance  " — The  Necessity 
for  Giving  Due  Consideration  to  both — Regard  for  Form  and  Disregard 
of  Significance  in  Painting — In  Sculpture,  Architecture,  Music,  and 
Poetry — How  Far  the  Artist  must  Consciously  Regard  Claims  of  Sig- 
nificance— Regard  for  Significance  and  Disregard  of  Form  in  Poetry 
and  Painting — In  Architecture — In  Music — Regard  for  Form  and  for 
Significance  Need  not  be  Antagonistic — Reason  for  Applying  to  the 
Higher  Arts  the  Term  "  Representative." 

'THE  opening  chapter  of  this  book  undertook  to  show 
that  art  which  is  such  in  the  finest  and  most  distinc- 
tive sense  has  to  deal  with  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature, 
with  human  thoughts  and  emotions,  and  with  products 
external  to  the  artist.  In  Chapters  II.,  III.,  and  IV., 
certain  limitations  were  placed  upon  each  of  these  condi- 
tions. This  art  was  said  to  be  confined  to  such  sights 
and  sounds  as  are  beautiful,  to  such  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions as  are  largely  due  to  the  subconscious  action  of 
the  mind,  when  influenced  by  emotion  and  stimulating 
imagination,  and  to  such  products  external  to  the  artist 
as  embody  the  other  two  conditions  instinctively,  or  as 
a  result  of  skill,  acquired  by  practice.  In  this  chapter, 
an  endeavour  will  be  made  to  limit  the  province  of  these 
higher  arts  still  further,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate 
a  single  principle  applicable  to  all  of  them  in  all  of  these 

68 


FORM  AND   SIGNIFICANCE.  6g 

relations,  whether  considered  as  rearrangements  of  na- 
ture, as  expressions  of  thoughts  and  emotions,  or  as  pro- 
ducts external  to  the  artist. 

We  will  begin  with  a  suggestion  derived  from  the  fact 
that  high  art  deals  with  sights  and  sounds  that  are  beauti- 
ful. Beauty,  as  we  have  found,  depends  upon  effects 
upon  both  the  senses  and  the  mind.  But  if  this  be  so, 
sights  or  sounds  used  in  art  must  produce  effects  upon 
both.  They  can  evidently  do  this  so  far  only  as,  together 
with  effects  peculiar  to  appearances,  they  convey  also  cer- 
tain effects  peculiar  to  a  significance  underlying  the  ap- 
pearances. This  introduces  us  to  the  controversy  in  art 
as  to  the  relative  or  exclusive  importance  oi  form  and  of 
significance. 

The  term  form,,  derived  from  the  Latin  w  ox  A  forma, 
meaning  an  appearance,  refers,  primarily,  to  anything 
that  can  be  perceived  by  the  senses,  and,  in  the  higher 
arts,  for  reasons  given  on  page  8,  by  one  of  two  senses, 
— that  of  hearing  or  of  seeing.  But,  besides  this,  the 
term  has  a  secondary  and  metaphorical  meaning;  it  refers 
to  any  conception  the  whole  and  the  parts  of  which  ap- 
peal to  the  imagination — i.  e.,  the  imagining  power  of  the 
mind — in  a  clearly  articulated,  distinctly  outlined,  or 
graphic  way,  so  that  one  may  liken  the  conception  to  a 
thing  that  the  senses  can  perceive.  This  is  the  use  of 
the  word  which  justifies  one  in  speaking  of  the  form  of  an 
oration  or  a  drama,  or  of  a  storm-scene  or  a  battle-scene, 
which  latter  he  may  have  only  in  mind  without  any  in- 
tention of  ever  actually  putting  it  into  the  form  of  a 
picture. 

The  term  significance  refers  to  that  which  is  supposed 
to  be  indicated  to  the  mind  through  the  form.  Some- 
times the  form  indicates  this  on  account  of  what  it  is  in 


yO  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

itself,  as  when  the  picture  of  a  man  looking  intently  at  an 
object  makes  us  think  that  he  is  studying  it.  But  some- 
times the  form  in  itself  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  sig- 
nificance, which  it  only  suggests  by  way  of  association. 
For  instance,  in  certain  circumstances,  by  hanging  out  a 
national  flag,  or  by  wearing  the  national  colours,  we  may 
manifest  our  patriotism.  The  flags  and  colours  are  the 
forms  through  which,  because  men  can  see  them,  we  in- 
dicate the  patriotism  which  men  cannot  see.  The  flags 
and  colours  are  the  signals,  the  patriotism  is  the  thing 
signified,  or  the  significance.  This  illustration  will  indi- 
cate what  is  meant  in  art  by  form  and  by  the  significance 
expressed  through  the  form.  Very  many  forms  which 
an  artist  can  use  inevitably  suggest — on  account  of  what 
they  are  in  themselves,  or  of  their  associations — one  con- 
ception and  no  other.  Therefore,  in  reproducing  them, 
the  artist  must  treat  them  not  as  mere  forms,  but  as 
forms  which,  by  way  of  nature  or  of  ordinary  use,  have  a 
definite  meaning.  If,  for  instance,  we  ask  a  sculptor  who 
has  tried  to  represent  a  certain  character,  why  a  hand 
has  been  moulded  so  as  to  produce  a  gesture  with  the 
palm  up  instead  of  down,  he  cannot  give  a  satisfactory 
answer  by  saying  that  he  has  moulded  it  thus  for  the 
sake  merely  of  the  form,  in  case  he  mean  to  use  this 
word  as  indicating  an  appearance.  One  gesture,  if  well 
made,  may  appear  as  well  as  another.  The  difference 
between  the  two  is  wholly  a  difference  of  meaning,  of 
significance. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  importance  of  both  form 
and  significance  as  thus  explained,  as  well  as  the  import- 
ance of  the  artist's  considering  both,  when  engaged  in  his 
work,  would  be  conceded  without  argument.  But  such 
is  not  the  case.     Because  art  must  have,  as  all  admit,  a 


FIG.   6.— THE  GIRLHOOD  O^  THE  V'RQIN   MARY— ROSSETTI. 
See  page  go. 


71 


J  2  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

form  reproducing  in  some  way  an  appearance  of  nature, 
there  are  those  who  affirm  that  regard  for  forms  alone  is 
sufficient ;  that  if  attention  be  concentrated  upon  them, 
the  significance  may,  so  to  speak,  take  care  of  itself. 
Others  again,  because  art  must  be,  as  all  admit,  significant 
of  thoughts  and  feelings,  affirm  that  regard  for  what  is  to 
be  expressed  is  sufficient;  that  if  attention  be  concen- 
trated upon  this,  the  form  may,  so  to  speak,  take  care  of 
itself. 

The  first  of  these  views  was  well  illustrated  by  a  story 
which  the  author  heard  recently  well  applauded  at  an 
artists'  public  dinner.  It  was  said  that  some  one,  in  a 
French  gallery,  noticed  two  painters  approach  a  picture, 
and  heard  them  discuss  the  colouring  of  some  fowls. 
After  about  five  minutes  they  turned  away;  and,  just  as 
they  were  doing  so,  one  of  them  said  to  the  other:  "By 
the  way,  what  was  that  picture  about?  Did  you  notice?  " 
"No,"  said  the  other.  Now,  while  this  story  illustrates 
the  kind  of  interest  which  not  only  the  painter,  but  the 
artist  in  any  art — music,  poetry,  sculpture,  or  architec- 
ture,— necessarily  comes  to  have  in  the  technique  of  his 
specialty,  it  does  not  illustrate  all  the  interest  which  one 
should  have  who  has  a  true  conception  of  what  art  can 
do  for  people  in  general.  It  does  not  illustrate  the  sort 
of  interest  that  Angelo  or  Raphael  had  in  their  produc- 
tions. On  a  Sunday,  one  could  sit  for  an  hour  before  the 
Sistine  Madonna  of  the  latter,  and  feel  more  benefited 
than  in  most  of  the  churches.  Nor  in  this,  nor  in  many 
another  picture  would  the  chief  benefit  be  traceable  to 
that  which  had  to  do  with  the  form,  i.  e.,  the  appearance 
aside  from  the  significance  or  the  thoughts  or  feelings 
expressed  through  the  appearance.  "He  is  what  I  call 
a  vulgar  painter,"  said  a  critic,    some   time   ago,    when 


ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE.  73 

speaking  of  an  artist.  "Are  you  getting  ethical  in  your 
tastes?"  was  asked.  "Not  that,"  he  answered,  "but 
don't  you  remember  that  picture  of  a  little  girl  by  Sar- 
gent in  the  National  Academy  Exhibition  last  year? 
You  could  n't  glance  at  it,  in  the  most  superficial  way, 
without  recognising  at  once  that  it  was  a  child  of  high- 
toned,  probably  intellectual,  spiritually-minded,  aristo- 
cratic parentage  and  surroundings.  Now,  if  the  man  of 
whom  I  was  speaking  had  painted  that  child,  he  could 
not  have  kept  from  making  her  look  like  a  coarse-haired, 
hide-skinned  peasant."  It  is  easy  to  perceive  that,  if 
this  criticism  were  justifiable,  the  fault  indicated  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  artist  to  recognise 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  men  naturally  associate 
with  certain  appearances  of  line  and  colour.  It  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  never  learned 
that  the  round,  ruddy  form  of  the  vital  temperament  that 
blossoms  amid  the  breeze  and  sunshine  of  the  open  field 
has  a  very  different  significance  from  the  more  complex 
and  delicate  curves  and  colours  that  appear  where  the 
nervous  temperament  is  ripened  behind  the  sheltering 
window-panes  of  the  study.  An  artist  believing  in  sig- 
nificance merely  enough  to  recognise  the  necessity  of 
representing  it  in  some  way  could,  with  a  very  few  thrusts 
of  his  knife,  to  say  nothing  of  his  brush,  at  one  and  the 
same  time  relieve  the  inflammation  of  chapped  cheeks, 
and  inject  into  the  veins  some  of  the  blue  blood  of 
aristocracy. 

A  similar  principle  applies  to  sculpture  and  architec- 
ture. The  impression  conveyed  by  a  statue  is  produced 
by  its  significance  for  the  mind — i.  e.,  by  the  subject 
represented  in  its  pose,  gestures,  and  facial  expression  — 
fully  as  much  as  by  the  mathematics  of  its  proportions  or 


74  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 

by  the  imitative  skill  manifested  in  its  chiselling.  Sim- 
ilarly in  the  impression  conveyed  by  a  building,  the 
embodiment  of  the  mental  conception  in  the  general 
arrangements  causing  them  to  be  representative  of  the 
plan  of  the  whole,  or  to  be  illustrative  of  special  contriv- 
ances of  construction  in  the  parts,  is  fully  as  important 
as  the  character  of  the  masonry  or  the  colouring  or  the 
harmony  of  the  outlines.  So  with  music  and  poetry. 
When  we  are  discussing  the  influence  upon  thought  or 
emotion  of  consecutive  or  conflicting  themes  or  scenes  in 
an  opera  of  Wagner,  or  a  drama  of  Shakespeare,  we  are 
talking  about  that  which,  though  partly  conditioned  upon 
laws  of  musical  or  poetic  form,  as  we  ordinarily  use  the 
term,  nevertheless,  transcends  them.  In  mere  jingle  the 
principles  of  rhythm  and  harmony  can  be  fulfilled  almost 
as  perfectly  as  in  the  most  inspired  and  sublime  com- 
position. This  fact  seems  to  be  self-evident.  Yet,  in  his 
"Degeneracy,"  Max  Nordau  quotes  Theophile  Gautier 
as  saying:  "For  the  poet  words  have,  in  themselves 
and  outside  the  sense  they  express,  a  beauty  and  a  value 
of  their  own.  Nothing  is  less  ideal  than  a  poet";  also 
the  following  from  Charles  Baudelaire:  "If  a  poet  have 
pursued  a  moral  aim,  it  is  not  impudent  to  wager  that 
his  work  will  be  bad.  Poetry  has  not  truth  for  its  object, 
it  has  only  itself  ";  and  this  from  Gustave  Flaubert:  "A 
beautiful  verse  meaning  nothing  is  superior  to  a  verse 
less  beautiful  meaning  something."  "From  time  to 
time,"  says  Oscar  Wilde,  "the  world  cries  out  against 
some  charming,  artistic  poet,  because,  to  use  its  hack- 
neyed and  silly  phrase,  he  has  'nothing  to  say.'  It  is 
just  because  he  has  no  new  message  that  he  can  do  beau- 
tiful work. ' '  Think  of  the  literary  prospects  of  a  country 
or  of  the  world;  of  the  possibility  of  its  receiving  any 


ARTISTIC  SIGNIFICANCE.  75 

inspiring  impulses  from  its  poets  at  a  period  when  new 
authors,  writing  with  the  acknowledged  motives  of 
Dante,  Milton,  or  Wordsworth,  would,  for  this  and  for  no 
other  reason,  fail  to  commend  themselves  to  the  leaders 
of  literary  opinion  ! 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said  of  the 
importance  of  significance,  that  the  author  intends  to 
assert  that  every  artist,  when  composing,  must  con- 
sciously think  of  significance  as  well  as  of  form.  Many  a 
child  unconsciously  gestures  in  a  form  exactly  indicative 
of  his  meaning.  But  often,  owing  to  acquired  inflexibil- 
ity or  unnaturalness,  the  same  child,  when  grown,  un- 
consciously gestures  in  a  form  not  indicative  of  his 
meaning.  What  then?  If  he  wish  to  be  an  actor,  he 
must  study  the  art  of  gesture,  and  for  a  time,  at  least, 
must  produce  the  right  gestures  consciously.  And  be- 
sides this,  whether  he  produce  them  consciously  or  un- 
consciously, in  the  degree  in  which  he  is  an  artist  in  the 
best  sense,  he  will  know  what  form  he  is  using,  and  why 
he  is  using  it.  The  same  principle  applies  in  all  the  arts. 
The  simple  truth  is  that  the  human  mind  is  incapable  of 
taking  in  any  form  without  being  informed  of  something 
by  it;  and  it  is  the  business  of  intelligent,  not  to  say 
honest,  art  to  see  to  it  that  the  information  conveyed  is 
not  false,  that  the  thing  made  corresponds  to  the  thing 
meant. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  equally  important  for  the  artist 
to  avoid  supposing  that  to  pay  attention  to  significance, 
and  to  this  alone,  is  all  that  is  essential.  Goethe  once 
said  that  his  poetry  had  been  a  continual  confession. 
Suppose  that  it  had  been  merely  a  confession.  Would 
this  alone  have  made  him  the  greatest  poet  of  his  time? 
To  become  such,  did  he  not  need,   besides  thinking  of 


j6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

the  significance  of  that  which  he  was  to  say,  to  think  also 
of  the  form  in  which  he  was  to  say  it?  And  was  not  the 
significance  one  thing,  and  the  form— the  versification, 
or  the  unity  of  the  plot — another  thing?  And  might  he 
not  have  paid  attention  to  the  one,  and  not  to  the  other? 
Most  certainly  he  might.  But  if  he  had  he  would  never 
have  ranked  where  he  does— with  Dante  and  Shakespeare. 
So  in  painting  and  sculpture.  The  figures  of  Benjamin 
West  and  Julius  Schnorr  are  arranged  more  effectively 
than  many  a  most  spectacularly  significant  climax  in  a 
drama;  those  of  Balthasar  Denner  and  Florent  Willems 
manifest  the  most  scrupulous  regard  for  the  requirements 
of  line  and  colour.  Yet  because  exclusive  attention  to 
either  significance  or  form  led  all  of  them  to  neglect  one 
of  the  two,  they  never  can  rank  with  artists  of  which  this 
was  not  true — Raphael,  Titian,  and  Rubens. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  architecture. 
Twenty  ye^rs  ago  large  numbers  of  people  were  talking 
about  sincerity  in  this  art.  As  applied  to  building  a 
house,  this  meant  that  every  respective  closet  or  stair- 
case should  be  indicated  on  the  exterior  by  a  significantly 
constructed  window,  or  blank  space,  or  protuberance, — 
a  thoroughly  sound  principle  so  far  as  it  was  applicable. 
But  with  the  narrowness  and  the  lack,  in  a  distinctive 
sense,  of  comprehension  characterising  the  artistic  notions 
of  our  times,  the  principle  was  applied  to  everything — to 
every  exterior  effect,  for  instance,  without  any  regard  to 
any  requirements  of  proportion  or  harmony.  The  result 
was  those  developments  of  the  "Queen  Anne"  style, 
which  even  the  unbalanced  conceptions  of  contemporary 
criticism  had  sense  enough  to  nickname  "  Bloody  Mary" 
and  "Crazy  Jane."  Probably,  however,  even  these  were 
an  advance  upon  the  method  pursued  in  a  construction 


ARTISTIC  FORM.  J  J 

of  which  I  know,  in  which  the  exterior  was  completed 
before  the  builders  had  decided  upon  the  rooms  or  halls 
to  be  placed  in  the  interior. 

And  so  with  music.  The  difference  between  a  melody 
of  Offenbach  and  the  least  successful  recitative-work  of 
Wagner  is  the  difference  between  treating  musical  form 
as  if  it  were  wholly  a  matter  of  form,  and  as  if  it  were 
wholly  a  matter  of  significance.  The  difference  between 
both  and  the  best  music  of  Wagner,  and  of  Mozart,  Bee- 
thoven, and  Sullivan,  too,  is  that  in  the  latter  the  im- 
portance of  both  form  and  significance  has  been  duly 
recognised. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said  that  the 
requirements  of  form  and  of  significance  are  essentially 
different.  Indeed,  many  artists  and  critics,  apparently, 
imagine  that,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  one  of  the  two, 
they  must  subordinate  the  other  or  neglect  it  altogether. 
This  supposition  has  led  to  two  schools  of  art,  the  one 
grounding  it,  primarily,  upon  imitation,  the  other  upon 
the  communication  of  thought  and  emotion.  But  why 
should  there  be  these  two  schools?  A  man  usually  imi- 
tates a  form  because  he  has  had  some  thought  or  feeling 
in  connection  with  its  appearance, — in  other  words,  be- 
cause it  has  suggested  something  to  him,  because  it  has 
had  for  him  some  significance.  The  very  existence  of 
art-form,  therefore,  involves  the  existence  of  significance. 
Again,  a  man  communicates  thought  and  emotion 
through  a  form  because  these,  in  the  condition  in  which 
they  exist  in  the  mind,  cannot  be  heard  or  seen  by 
others.  They  must  be  expressed  audibly  or  visibly; 
that  is  to  say,  in  a  form.  The  existence  of  significance, 
therefore,  if  one  would  make  it  known,  involves  the  use 
of  a  form. 


78  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

Actuated  by  these  suggestions,  as  well  as  by  a  know- 
ledge of  the  influence  often  exerted  upon  conception  by 
a  single  term  sufficiently  comprehensive  to  include  all 
that  the  conception  contains,  the  author,  when  search- 
ing, at  the  beginning  of  his  studies  upon  art,  for  a  word 
expressive  of  that  which  is  the  general  result  of  art- 
production,  whether  considered  as  repeating  the  effects 
of  things  seen  or  heard  in  the  external  world,  or  as  giving 
utterance  to  thoughts  or  feelings,  came  upon  the  word 
represent.  It  is  not  a  new  word  in  the  history  of  art; 
but  it  seems  never  to  have  been  used  in  a  manner  suf- 
ficiently comprehensive.  Painting,  for  instance,  has  been 
termed  representative  and  music  presentative.  In  this 
book,  it  will  be  shown  that  the  latter,  too,  is  representa- 
tive. When  examined  carefully,  it  will  be  found  that 
this  word  represent,  without  any  distortions  of  its  ordinary 
meanings,  can  express,  in  all  cases,  the  exact  results  of 
any  form  of  imaginative  art.  When  reproducing  the 
appearances  or  occurrences  of  nature,  imagination  repre- 
sents them  in  external  form.  But  it  also  represents  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  which  the  mind  has  come  to  as- 
sociate with  the  form.  Nor,  as  will  be  shown  presently, 
is  there  any  artistic  quality  which  cannot  be  sufficiently 
tested  by  applying  to  any  of  the  characteristics  of  any 
art-work— whether  they  pertain  to  form  or  to  significance 
—the  question,  What  does  it  represent? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ART  AS  REPRESENTATIVE  RATHER  THAN  IMITATIVE  OF 
NATURAL  APPEARANCES. 

Representation  Contrasted  with  Imitation  —  Co-ordinated  with  Require- 
ments of  Imagination — Of  Sympathy — Representation  versus  Imita- 
tion in  Music — Representation  in  Music  of  Intonations  of  Speech — Of 
Natural  Humming  and  of  Surrounding  Sounds — Representations  of 
Nature  in  the  Sounds  and  Figures  of  Poetry — In  its  General  Themes 
—  Representations  of  Nature  in  Painting  and  Sculpture — While  Some- 
times Imitative,  These  Are  Always  Representative — Shown  in  the 
Results  of  the  Study  of  Values — Of  Light  and  Shade — Of  Shape  and 
Texture — Of  Distance,  and  the  Classic  and  Impressionist  Line — 
Of  Aerial  Perspective — Of  Lineal  Perspective — Of  Life  and  Move- 
ment— Explaining  Occasional  Lack  of  Accuracy — Same  Principles 
Applied  to  Sculpture — Representation  rather  than  Imitation  of  Primi- 
tive Architecture  as  in  Huts,  Tents,  etc. — Architectural  Perspective  as 
Applied  by  the  Greeks — Explaining  Differences  in  Measurements  of 
Similar  Features  in  the  Same  Building — Differences  in  Measurements 
of  Corresponding  Features  in  Different  Buildings — Representation 
not  Imitation  the  Artist's  Aim  in  Reproducing  Forms  in  Architecture. 

'THE  truth  of  the  statements  made  at  the  close  of  the 
preceding  chapter  will  be  illustrated  in  this  by  show- 
ing their  applicability  to  the  method  in  which  art  deals 
with  the  sights  or  sounds  of  nature.  According  to  Web- 
ster, to  represent  means  "to  present  again  either  by  image, 
by  action,  by  symbol,  or  by  substitute,"  and  there  is  no 
possible  use  of  natural  forms  in  art  that  cannot  be  in- 
cluded under  one  of  these  heads.  Imitation,  which  is, 
undoubtedly,  a  frequent  process  in  art,  can  be  included 

79 


80  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

thus;  but  so  can  many  other  processes  that  are  not 
imitative.  Representation  has  a  broader  applicability, 
and  by  using  this  term  we  can  get  something  expressing 
the  exact  truth  in  all  cases.  An  orchestral  passage  in  an 
opera,  or  a  declamatory  scene  in  a  drama,  cannot,  strictly 
speaking,  copy  or  imitate,  but  it  can  represent  an  ex- 
change of  thought  between  a  demi  god  and  a  forest 
bird,  as  in  Wagner's  "Siegfried,"  or  a  conversation  be- 
tween historic  characters  as  in  Shakespeare's  "Henry 
the  Eighth."  A  painting  of  a  man  on  canvas,  or  a 
statue  of  him  in  marble,  does  not,  strictly  speaking,  copy 
or  imitate  a  man,  who,  actually  considered,  can  be 
neither  flat  nor  white;  but  it  does  represent  him.  Columns, 
arches,  and  roofs  do  not,  by  any  means,  copy  or  imitate, 
but  they  do  represent  the  trunks  and  branches  and  water- 
shedding  leaves  of  the  forest.  Nothing  in  fact  that  a 
man  can  make  of  the  materials  at  his  disposal  can, 
strictly  speaking,  copy  or  imitate  in  all  its  features  that 
which  is  found  in  nature;  but  he  can  always  represent 
this. 

It  is  precisely  for  this  reason,  too,  because  art  does 
and  can  represent,  and  does  not  and  need  not  always 
literally  imitate,  that  it  appeals  to  the  imagination,  as  well 
as  issues  from  it.  A  literal  imitation,  leaving  nothing 
for  the  imagination  to  do,  does  not  stimulate  its  action. 
Whistles  or  bells  in  music;  commonplace  phrases  or 
actions  in  poetry;  and  indiscriminate  particularities  of 
detail  in  the  work  of  pencil,  brush,  or  chisel,  usually  pro- 
duce disenchanting  effects  entirely  aside  from  those  that 
we  feel  to  be  legitimate  to  art.  This  is  largely  because 
the  artist,  in  using  them,  has  forgotten  that  his  aim  is 
less  to  imitate  than  to  represent. 

The  fact  that  works  of  art   represent  explains,  too,  in 


REPRESENTATIVE    NOT  IMITATIVE.  8 1 

part,  at  least,  the  sympathetic  interest  which  they  awaken, 
— an  interest  often  noticed  and  as  often  deemed  essential. 
To  what  can  this  with  better  reason  be  attributed  than  to 
a  recognition  of  the  difficulties  overcome— as  must  always 
be  the  case  where  a  form  of  presentation  is  changed — 
when  producing  in  one  medium  an  effect  that  in  nature 
appears  in  another  medium;  and  to  a  consequent  ap- 
preciation of  the  particular  originality  and  skill  of  the 
individual  artist  who  has  overcome  these  difficulties? 

To  apply  these  statements  to  the  different  arts,  it  is 
mainly  owing  to  a  lack  of  all  appeal  to  the  imagination 
or  to  the  sympathies,  that  accurate  imitations  of  the 
sounds  that  come  from  birds,  beasts,  winds,  and  waters 
fail  to  affect  us  as  do  chords  which  are  recognised  to  be 
produced  by  wind  and  stringed  instruments  in  the  pass- 
ages descriptive  of  the  influence  of  a  forest,  in  Wagner's 
opera  of  "Siegfried,"  or  in  the  "Pastoral  Symphonies" 
of  Handel  and  Beethoven.  Nor  can  any  number  of 
tones  imitating  exactly  the  expressions  of  love,,  grief,  or 
fright  compare,  in  their  influence  upon  us,  with  the 
representations  of  the  same  in  the  combined  vocal 
and  instrumental  melodies  and  harmonies  of  love-songs, 
dirges,  and  tragic  operas.  The  truth  of  this  may  be  more 
readily  conceded  in  an  art  like  music,  perhaps,  than  in 
some  of  the  other  arts;  for  in  it  the  imitative  elements 
are  acknowledged  to  be  at  a  minimum.  To  such  an  ex- 
tent is  this  the  case,  in  fact,  that  some  have  declared  it  to 
be prese?itative  rather  than  representative,  not  recognising 
that  a  use  of  such  elements  of  duration,  force,  pitch,  and 
quality  as  enable  us  to  distinguish  between  a  love-song, 
a  dirge,  and  a  tragic  passage  would  altogether  fail  to 
convey  their  meaning,  unless  there  were  something  in 
the  movement  to  represent  ideas  or  emotions  which  we 


82 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .-ESTHETICS. 


were  accustomed  to  associate   with   similar  movements 
perceived  in  nature. 

Among  these  movements  of  sounds  presented  in  nature 
we  may  class,  for  instance,  the  intonations  of  natural 
speech,  by  which  are  meant  the  tones,  but  not  the  ar- 
ticulations, used  in  uttering  series  of  words.  Notice  the 
following  song.  The  words  composing  it  can  be  talked 
in  accordance  with  the  notation  almost  as  easily  as  they 
can  be  sung: 

-S-fN it 


fefe¥ 


m 


*-^-j 


£—£-*- 


-N— & 


-^— N- 


^A- 


— N — i — * 


i 


i* 


If      a    bo-dy     meet    a    bo-dy,  Coin-in'     thro'  the    rye, 

-K-N v- 


S 


K 


,v 


4-v( 


-0—^ 


^   iv 


K^—h 


If      a  bo-dy       kiss     a    bo-dy,  Need  a       bo  -  dy    cry  ? 

Comiri  thro'  the  Rye  :  Scotch  Melody. 

What  is  true  of  this  melody  is  true  of  almost  every 
melody  that  proves  to  be  permanently  popular.  Be- 
neath what  is  sometimes  great  exaggeration,  we  can 
detect  the  intonations  natural  to  the  speaking  utterance 
of  the  sentiments  expressed.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say 
that,  in  such  cases,  music,  while  in  no  sense  imitative,  is 
nevertheless  representative  of  the  intonations  of  speech. 
In  other  cases,  it  might  be  said  to  be  a  development  of 
something  that  lies  behind  the  intonations  of  speech  ;  and 
which,  though  having  the  same  cause,  antedates  them, 
i.  t\,  a  development  of  humming  in  which  almost  every 
one,  at  times,  indulges.  A  man,  in  the  subjective, 
absent-minded  condition  in  which  he  takes  to  humming, 
is  usually  unconscious  of  the  presence  either  of  surround- 
ing persons  or  of  sounds.      He  is  not  in  a  mood,  there- 


REPRESENTATION  IN  MUSIC.  83 

fore,  either  to  address  the  persons  distinctly,  or  to  repeat 
the  sounds  accurately.  But  while  this  is  true,  it  is  also 
true  that  his  method  of  expression  will  necessarily,  not 
in  a  specific  but  in  a  general  way,  represent  his  surround- 
ings. If  he  have  ever  heard,  especially  if  he  have  heard 
frequently,  sounds  like  the  humming  of  bees,  the  whist- 
ling of  winds  or  of  railway  locomotives,  or  the  notes  of 
squirrels,  quails,  whippoorwills,  robins,  catbirds,  or  of 
songs  sung,  or  of  exclamations  or  speeches  made  by 
men  and  women  about  him,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  his 
own  tones,  at  times  unconsciously  to  himself,  but  never- 
theless actually,  will  imitate  some  of  these  sounds,  all  of 
which,  being  external  to  himself,  are,  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
cerned, those  of  external  nature.  Music,  therefore,  may 
be  said  to  represent  not  only  the  natural  intonations  of 
the  human  voice,  but  natural  sounds  coming  from  sources 
that  are  not  human. 

But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  is  it  with  poetry?  Can  the 
same  principle  be  applied  to  this  art?  Why  not?  Even 
where  sounds  are  intentionally  suggested,  as  in  the 
quotations  on  page  210,  these  are  less  imitative,  in  a  strict 
sense,  than  representative.  The  same  is  true  of  figura- 
tive language  which  calls  up  to  imagination  certain 
scenes  to  which  reference  is  made.  How  accurate  is  the 
picturing  in  the  italicised  words  in  the  following;  yet 
who  can  fail  to  perceive  that  each  picture  is  produced  by 
way  of  representation,  and  not,  in  any  sense,  of  imitation? 

And  multitudes  of  dense,  white,  fleecy  clouds 
Were  wandering  in  thick  flocks  along  the  mountains, 
Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind. 

Prometheus  Unbound,  ii.,  1  :   Shelley. 
I  've  learned  to  prize  the  quiet  lightning  deed  ; 
Not  the  applauding  thunder  at  its  heels, 
Which  men  call  fame.  A  Life  Dra?na%  13  :   Alex.  Smith 


84  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

So  with  the  general  line  of  thought  in  a  poem.  An 
imitation  so  exact  apparently  that  we  should  think  it 
written  down  within  hearing,  of  the  ravings  of  a  mad 
king,  or  of  lamentations  at  the  loss  of  a  friend,  would  not 
appeal  to  us  like  what  we  know  to  be  merely  representa- 
tions of  these  in  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare's  "King 
Lear,"  or  in  the  rhyming  verse  of  Tennyson's  "In 
Memoriam."  The  talk  of  the  phonograph  will  never  be 
an  acceptable  substitute  for  the  soliloquy  or  dialogue  of 
the  artistic  drama  or  novel. 

A  like  fact  is  true  of  the  photograph.  For  the  very 
reason  that  it  is  an  imitation,  in  the  sense  of  being  a 
literal  presentation,  of  every  outline  on  which  the  light 
at  the  time  when  it  was  taken  happened  to  fall,  it  does 
not  awaken  in  us  the  kind  or  degree  of  imaginative  inter- 
est or  of  sympathy  that  we  feel  in  paintings  or  statues. 
In  contrast  to  the  impression  received  from  a  photo- 
graph, in  gazing  at  these,  we  feel  that  we  are  looking 
through  an  artist's  eye,  seeing  only  what  he  saw  or 
thought  fit  for  us  to  see,  and  that  everything  in  them  is 
traceable  to  the  skill  displayed  by  him  when  transferring 
what  in  nature  is  presented  in  one  medium  into  another 
medium,  as  when  delineating  flesh  and  foliage  through 
the  use  of  colour  and  when  turning  veins  and  lace  into 
marble. 

At  the  same  time,  so  much  in  painting  and  sculpture 
suggests  mere  imitation,  that  some  have  held  the  theory 
that  all  its  processes  can  be  resolved  into  this.  But  is 
such  a  theory  justifiable?  Is  not  representation  a  better 
term  to  apply  to  some  even  of  those  processes  that  are 
the  most  nearly  imitative?  Think,  for  instance,  what  is 
done  in  the  use  of  colour.  For  centuries  those  who  tried 
merely  to  imitate  this  as  it  appeared  in  nature  were  not 


REPRESENTATION  IN   COLOR.  85 

successful.  The  blue  of  the  sky  and  the  bloom  of  the 
cheek  were  painted  in  hues  altogether  too  deep  and  full. 
Sparkling  effects  like  those  glanced  from  waters  were 
scarcely  attempted.  Nor  did  the  earlier  painters  seem  to 
recognise  the  varieties  in  these  colours — the  infinite  num- 
ber of  tints  and  shades  found  in  them  when  exposed  to 
more  or  less  sunlight.  They  could  never  depict  aright 
the  folds  of  drapery,  the  leaves  of  trees,  or  even  the 
plain  ceiling  of  a  room  where  it  was  necessary  to  re- 
produce effects  of  illumination  or  reflection.  Much  less 
could  they  represent  the  larger  play  of  light  and  shade, 
air  luminous  with  sunshine  or  mellow  in  the  moonlight. 
What  hues  could  picture  the  effects  of  firelight  or  of 
shadows  cast  by  certain  colours  or  received  on  certain 
colours?  Only  many  experiments  could  settle  these 
questions.  At  last,  it  was  science  alone  that  seemed  able 
to  settle  them  beyond  dispute.  Then  it  was  found  that, 
in  many  cases,  one  cannot  reproduce  the  effects  of  the 
actual  colours  in  nature  by  merely  imitating  them  ;  he 
must  use  other  and  different  colours.  For  instance,  a 
figure  by  Delacroix  in  a  fresco  in  the  cupola  of  the 
Library  of  the  Luxembourg  at  Paris,  on  account  of  the 
influence  of  surrounding  colours,  is  made  to  look  flesh- 
like by  being  painted  largely  in  tints  of  green.  See  Chap- 
ter XVIII.  of  the  present  volume,  especially  pages  371 
to  374. 

To  appreciate  how  much  more  than  mere  imitation  is 
involved,  even  in  that  part  of  the  work  of  the  painter 
which  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  nearly  imitative, 
let  us  glance  at  a  few  of  the  results  of  experiment  and 
study  in  such  work.  To  begin  with,  these  have  led  to  a 
recognition  in  the  use  of  colour  of  what  are  termed  values. 
This  term  undoubtedly  grew  out  of  the  application  to 


86  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  /ESTHETICS. 

colours  of  other  terms  like  rich,  full,  deep,  thin,  weak. 
It  would  be  natural  to  say  that  anything  which  coukl  be 
more  rich  or  full  than  another  could  differ  from  it  in 
value.  All  such  terms,  however,  when  once  used,  come 
soon  to  have  technical  meanings.  The  meaning  now  at- 
tached to  the  term  is  indicative  of  the  degree  of  light  that 
is  in  a  colour.  In  the  foreground  of  a  picture,  where 
there  is  supposed  to  be  the  most  light,  rendering  all  things 
distinct,  the  colour  is  said  to  have  more  value  than  the 
same  when  in  the  background.  The  term  is  also  applied 
to  colourless  drawings,  but,  in  this  case,  a  line  that  is  in 
the  foreground,  where  there  is  the  most  light,  rendering 
it  distinct,  is,  unlike  a  colour,  darker  rather  than  brighter. 
So  we  have  the  apparent  anomaly  of  assigning  the  most 
value  to  bright  colours,  and  yet  to  dark  lines  (sec  Fig.  2, 
page  3).  A  score  or  more  of  years  ago  the  term  was 
used  to  indicate  differences  between  different  hues;  yel- 
low, for  instance,  as  containing  more  light,  being  said  to 
have  more  value  than  green  containing  less  light.  At 
present,  however,  the  word  seems  mainly  used  to  indicate 
relations  between  different  tints  or  shades  of  the  same 
hue,  tint  being  a  term  indicative  of  what  contains  more 
light,  and  shade  a  term  indicative  of  what  contains  less 
light,  than  the  hue  itself  does  when  it  is  what  is  termed 
full.  As  illustrating  the  very  different  effects  produced 
upon  the  same  colour  by  very  slight  changes  in  degrees  of 
light  and  shade,  excellent  examples  arc  afforded  in  every 
large  picture  gallery.  For  instance,  in  the  picture  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  New  York,  entitled  "Gossip," 
by  Carl  Marr,  dresses,  a  table-cloth,  a  window  curtain, 
and  many  other  articles  placed  side  by  side  are  all  white. 
In  another  picture,  entitled  "A  Spanish  Lady,"  by  For- 
tuny,  the  dress,  laces,  ribbons,  and  ornaments  of  jet  are 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  8f 

all  black;  and  in  still  another  entitled  "Monks  in  the 
Oratory,"  by  P.  M.  Granet,  the  robes,  seats,  wainscot- 
ing, and  other  objects  are  all  brown. 

Another  important  result  of  the  study  of  both  painter 
and  scientist  is  noticeable  in  the  methods  of  representing, 
by  means  of  colour,  the  effects  of  light  and  shade.  The 
very  earliest  paintings  of  which  we  know — the  Egyptian 
— contained  no  shadows  whatever.  The  early  Italians 
thought  that  they  could  depict  the  effects  of  light  upon 
a  fabric  of  any  colour  by  white,  and  of  shade  upon  the 
same  colour  by  black.  Of  course,  their  method  did  not 
involve  any  study  of  what  is  now  termed  values.  At 
present,  it  is  customary  to  begin  by  recognising  that  the 
light  and  shade  upon  any  scene  in  nature  may  be  general 
and  particular.  That  which  is  general  is  produced  upon 
a  scene  or  an  object,  as  a  whole,  by  some  illumining 
agent,  like  the  sun,  the  moon,  a  fire,  or  a  candle.  That 
which  is  special  is  produced  by  the  different  positions 
relatively  to  one  another  of  different  parts  of  the  whole. 
A  tree  or  a  man,  for  instance,  if  depicted  in  sunshine, 
would  each  cast  a  shadow,  and  each  with  its  shadow 
would  illustrate  the  effects  of  general  light  and  shade. 
Rut  besides  this,  every  leaf  or  limb  of  the  tree  is  illumined 
with  a  light  peculiar  to  itself,  and  casts  its  shadow  on 
some  other  leaf  or  limb;  and  every  feature  in  the  counte- 
nance and  every  fold  in  the  clothing  of  a  man  is  either  in 
extreme  brightness,  like  the  tip  of  his  chin  or  nose,  or  in 
shadow,  like  a  dimple  of  his  chin  or  one  side  of  his  nose. 
In  some  of  these  cases,  as,  for  instance,  where  sparkling 
effects  are  necessary,  light  can  be  properly  indicated  by 
white,  and  shade,  as  where  surrounding  colours  are  very 
dull,  by  black;  in  others,  as  where  the  light  falls  strongly 
on  brilliant  colours,  the  shadows  must  contain  hues  that 


88  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  /ESTHETICS. 

complement  these  (see  page  372) ;  but  in  many  cases, 
especially  where  the  light  is  not  intense,  it  is  mainly 
necessary  to  change  the  values  of  the  same  hues,  making 
them  brighter  in  more  light  and  darker  in  less.  To  pre- 
serve the  proper  relations  and  proportions  of  colouring 
in  each  case  is,  of  course,  extremely  difficult,  and  ne- 
cessitates very  careful  observation  of  the  conditions  of 
nature.  The  main  principle  is  that  the  brighter  the 
illumining  light,  the  greater  are  the  contrasts  both  of 
shade  and  hue  between  the  bright  and  dark  parts  and  the 
more  sharply  defined  are  the  lines  of  demarkation  between 
them  (see  Fig.  2,  page  3).  Besides  this,  in  any  given 
scene,  the  influence  of  the  light  is  such  that,  to  be 
properly  represented,  the  values  need  to  be  slightly  and 
gradually  changed  at  almost  every  point.  The  difference 
in  a  painting  between  the  appearance  of  mere  paint  and 
the  appearance  of  reality  is  largely  due  to  these  slight 
variations  in  values,  producing  everywhere,  but  especially 
in  connection  with  thick  foliage  or  folds  of  drapery,  those 
subtle  suggestions  of  the  play  of  light  and  shade  in  which 
nature  always  abounds. 

The  representation  of  shape  and  texture  is  closely  re- 
lated to  that  of  light  and  shade.  It  is  the  narrow  or 
broid  lines  or  circles  of  intensely  bright  and  sometimes 
white  colour,  together  with  darker  colours  on  either 
side  or  surrounding  them,  that  enable  us  to  perceive 
that  an  object  in  which  they  appear  is  intended  to  seem 
to  have  an  edged  or  a  rounded  or  circular  shape,  while 
similar  characteristics,  differently  and  more  minutely  dis- 
tributed, enable  us  to  recognise  that  the  texture  is  in- 
tended to  seem  like  that  of  silk,  velvet,  wool,  wood, 
stone,  soil,  water,  or  clouds.  We  can  recognise  these 
facts,  even  from  the  corresponding  effects  as  produced  by 


CLASSIC  AND   ROMANTIC  LINES.  89 

the  use  of  the  pencil  in  Fig.  3,  page  19.  The  necessity 
of  representing  shape  in  painting  was  recognised  very 
early  in  the  development  of  the  art,  but  there  were  no 
great  painters  of  texture  before  those  of  the  Netherlands, 
like  Dou,  Hals,  Denner,  Terborch,  and  Jan  Steen.  In 
recent  times  there  are  many  who  excel  in  producing  these 
effects,  noticeably  Meissonier,  Willems,  Breton,  Fortuny, 
Alma  Tadema,  Rousseau,  and  Troyon. 

The  use  of  values  in  the  representation  of  distance  has 
necessitated  almost  as  much  study  as  in  the  representation 
of  texture.  To  begin  with,  remote  objects  are  always 
in  light  that  is  comparatively  dim  ;  and,  for  this  reason, 
their  outlines  are  indistinct  (see  Fig.  2,  page  3).  But  it 
took  the  world  many  years  to  recognise  this.  Some 
artists  apparently  have  not  recognised  it  yet.  There  is 
still  a  controversy,  the  results  of  which  can  be  seen  in 
every  large  gallery  of  modern  paintings,  between  the  ad- 
vocates of  what  is  termed  the  "classic  "  or  "academic  " 
line,  and  the  "romantic,"  "picturesque,"  or  "natural- 
istic." The  former  is  a  firm,  clear  line  such  as  appears 
in  the  paintings  of  Gerome  (Fig.  4,  page  41),  Bougereau, 
and  Cabanel.  The  other  is  a  misty,  indistinct  line,  such 
as  appears  in  some  of  the  works  of  Corot,  Sargent,  and 
Israels.  Notice  the  left  leg  of  the  man  in  Fig.  5,  page 
61.  The  former  line  is  necessarily  the  primitive  one, 
the  first  impulse  of  any  draughtsman  being  to  separate 
an  object  distinctly  from  other  objects.  As  we  should 
expect,  therefore,  this  kind  of  line  characterises  most  of 
the  pictures  that  have  come  to  us  from  the  ancients,  as 
well  as  the  rude  sketches  of  the  school-boys  of  our  own 
time.  But  in  the  drawings  of  certain  great  masters,  say 
Titian,  Correggio,  and  Rembrandt,  there  is  a  tendency 
in  the  other  direction.     Only  in  modern  times,  however, 


90  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

have    the    two    tendencies    developed    into    antagonistic 
schools, — the  extreme  advocates  of  the  one,  though  they 
are  not  all  called  Pre-Raphaelites,  showing  an  inclination 
to  claim,  as  the  modern  painters  who  founded  this  school 
were  accused  of  doing  (see  Fig.  6,   page  71),   that  in  a 
painting  every  leaf  on  a  tree,  every  spear  in  a  grass-plot, 
every  hair  on  a  head,  should  be  distinctly  and  separately 
outlined;  and  the  advocates  of  the  other  school  showing 
an  inclination  to  claim  that  in  no  case  should  any  of  these 
be  so  outlined,  partly  because  they  are  not  so  perceived 
in  nature  and  partly  because,  even  if  so  perceived,  they 
should  not  be  strictly  imitated  in  art,  the  object  of  which 
is  to  represent,  and  to  represent  not  specific,  but  general 
effects  (see  Fig.  7,  page  91  ;  also   5,  page  61).      It  seems 
as  if,  in  this  case,  as  usual,  the  extremists  on   both  sides 
somewhat  exaggerate  the  partial  truth  that  they  are  try- 
ing to  emphasise.      Objects  in  very  bright  light  and  near 
at  hand  can  be,  and,  if  one  be  representing  nature  faith- 
fully,  should    be   delineated  with  well   defined   outlines. 
On  the  contrary,  objects  that  are  in  dim  light,  as  in  the 
twilight  landscapes  of  Corot,  or  objects  that  are  remote 
from  the  observer,  can  be  and  should  be  delineated  with 
indistinct  outlines.      Notice  these  conditions  as  indicated 
in    Fig.    2,   page  3.      Among    painters,    Jules    Breton    is 
worthy  of  notice  as  particularly  successful   in   regarding 
this  principle.     In  many  of  his  pictures  the  figures  in  the 
foreground   are   as    clearly    defined    as   in    a   painting    by 
Meissonier,    while  those  in   the  rear,   in  strict   accordance 
with    the    conditions    in    nature,    are    outlined  with    great 
vagueness.       One    cannot     avoid    feeling     that    an    artist 
who   has    thus    reproduced    the    exact    effects    of    nature 
must    eventually     rank     higher     than     those     who     have 
allowed   a   mere   theory  to  cause   them   to   use  either  the 


92  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

"classic"   or  "romantic"   line  indiscriminately  and  uni- 
versally. 

There  are  other  effects  of  colour  that  have  only  been 
discovered  as  a  result  of  study.  Take  those  of  what  is 
termed  aerial  perspective.  The  atmosphere  is  filled  with 
particles  that  cause  it  to  act  like  a  veil  obscuring  the 
colours  in  the  distance  by  depriving  them  of  a  part  of 
their  light.  It  therefore  causes  them,  as  distances  in- 
crease, to  become  dimmer,  and,  in  the  remote  distance, 
to  become  changed  in  hue.  In  an  atmosphere  pervaded 
throughout  by  the  same  general  degree  of  light,  yellow, 
which  contains  the  most  light  of  any  of  the  colours, 
passes,  in  the  distance,  into  darker  yellow  and  orange- 
yellow;  orange  into  red-orange;  red  into  darker  red; 
yellow-green,  as  often  in  the  near  foliage  at  sunset,  into 
green,  then  into  dark  green,  and  in  great  distance,  into 
blue  and  bluish  purple,  or,  in  the  absence  of  sunshine, 
into  grey.  The  local  shadows  cast  by  a  hill,  tree,  or 
leaves  in  the  greater  brightness  near  at  hand  are  darker 
than  the  shadows  at  a  distance  (see  Fig.  2,  page  3). 
The  general  shadows  cast  by  the  clouds  do  not  necessarily 
have  this  effect.  Often,  in  fact,  by  obscuring  the  sun- 
light near  at  hand  and  leaving  it  clear  in  the  distance,  in 
other  words  by  changing  the  degrees  of  light  in  different 
parts  of  a  landscape,  they  change  the  distribution  of 
colours  that  have  been  mentioned.  In  an  ocean  view, 
for  instance,  light  green  is  sometimes  seen  in  the  distance 
and  deep  blue  near  at  hand.  But  as  a  rule  the  colours  in 
aerial  perspective  will  appear  as  has  been  stated.  In 
regiments  of  soldiers  marching  toward  us,  all  clad  in 
scarlet,  that  colour  seems  brightest  in  the  front  rank,  and 
gradually  decreases  in  brightness  till  in  the  remote  dis- 
tance it  may  seem  more  like  a  reddish  brown.     This  fact 


LINEAR  PERSPECTIVE.  93 

will  be  found  represented  in  several  of  the  military  pic- 
tures of  Detaille.  Even  in  the  same  room  books  of  the 
same  colour  seem  to  differ,  if  one  be  a  foot  farther  from 
us  than  another,  provided  always,  of  course,  that  they 
are  illumined  by  the  same  degree  of  light.  All  these 
statements  can  be  seen  illustrated,  by  inspecting  the 
works  of  artists  like  Rousseau,  Daubigny,  Millet,  or 
Troyon,  of  the  Fontainebleau-Barbizon  school,  the  ori- 
ental pictures  of  Decamps  or  Fromentin,  or  the  land- 
scapes or  interiors  of  more  modern  painters  like  Inness  or 
Chase  of  our  own  country,  Israels  of  Holland,  or  Lerolle 
of  France.  Those  who  have  an  opportunity  to  do  so  will 
be  interested  in  noticing  the  effects  of  distance  and  space 
as  produced  by  the  latter,  in  the  "Organ  Recital,"  which 
is  in  the  Metropolitan  Art  Museum  in  New  York. 

Distance  has  also  another  influence.  This  appears  in 
what  is  termed  linear  perspective.  If  we  look  down  a  long 
street,  the  roadway  or  sidewalks  of  which  are  of  uniform 
width,  and  the  buildings  along  which  are  of  uniform 
height,  we  find  all  the  lines  of  sidewalks,  curbstones,  and 
roofs  gradually  converging  in  the  extreme  distance.  In 
case  two  parallel  lines  are  as  near  together  as  the  two 
tracks  of  a  railway,  they  may  seem  actually  to  meet  in 
the  distance.  Notice  the  upper  illustration  at  the  left  of 
Fig.  2,  page  3.  As  the  appearance  indicated  is  uni- 
versal in  nature,  of  course  art,  in  representing  nature, 
must  represent  it  also.  Yet  for  centuries  the  proper 
method  of  doing  this  was  not  understood.  Now  it  is 
known  that  if,  from  an  imaginary  vanishing  point  on 
which  the  eye,  in  gazing  toward  the  back  of  a  picture,  is 
supposed  to  be  fixed,  radiating  lines  be  drawn  to  the  top 
and  bottom  and  sides  of  a  form  represented  in  the  fore- 
ground, these  lines  between  the  form  and  the  vanishing 


94  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

point  will  determine  the  top  and  bottom  and  sides  of 
other  figures,  which,  in  the  degree  in  which  every  dimen- 
sion in  them  is  made  smaller  than  the  form  in  the  fore- 
ground, will  appear  to  be,  not  less  in  actual  size,  but  at 
a  greater  distance  from  the  spectator.  Notice  the  left 
upper  illustration  in  Fig.  2,  page  3.  These  laws  of  per- 
spective are  now  so  well  known  that  their  more  simple 
effects  are  easy  to  produce.  But  some  of  them  are  ex- 
ceedingly difficult.  Take  cases  of  foreshortening,  for  in- 
stance, like  the  representations  painted  by  Michael  Angelo 
on  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  of  figures  in  all  pos- 
sible positions,  standing,  sitting,  lying,  and  ascending  in 
clouds, — could  any  one,  unless  very  skilful  as  a  draughts- 
man, produce  with  success  such  effects?  Could  he 
produce  them  at  all,  when  working  merely  by  way  of 
imitation?  Did  anybody  ever  actually  perceive  figures 
in  such  positions? 

There  is  another  important  effect  in  painting  that  is, 
perhaps,  still  less  allied  to  mere  imitation  than  any  that 
we  have  yet  considered.  It  is  the  effect  of  life  or  move- 
ment. The  spokes  of  a  wheel  in  a  waggon,  when  standing 
still,  have  one  appearance.  What  is  their  appearance 
when  the  waggon  is  under  way?  What  is  the  appearance 
of  a  torch  when  waved  through  the  air,  or  of  the  legs  of 
a  man  or  a  horse  when  racing?  What  is  the  appearance 
of  the  leaves  of  trees  or  the  waves  of  lakes  when  swayed 
by  a  tempest?  Such  effects  are  seldom  seen  with  a  dis- 
tinct outline  (see  Fig.  7,  page  91).  To  have  this,  an 
object  should  remain  a  certain  length  of  time  in  one 
place.  How  can  they  be  imitated?  They  cannot  be. 
They  can  be  merely  represented.  A  rolling  wheel  is 
pictured,  not  as  a  compound  of  spokes,  but  as  a  bparkling 
disk,   a  waving  torch   not  as  a  point  of  light,   but  as  a 


LIFE   AND  MOVEMENT.  95 

curve,  and  a  moving  form  not  as  a  stationary  one,  but 
disproportionately  extended.  Notice  the  left  leg  of  the 
man  in  Fig.  5,  page  61.  It  is  evidently  lengthened  as  it 
is,  in  order  to  represent  two  different  positions  which  the 
eye  is  supposed  to  take  in  at  one  glance.  "  Let  us  look 
at  these  Arab  horsemen  of  Fromentin,"  says  Van  Dyke 
in  his  "How  to  Judge  a  Picture."  "The  horse  of  this 
falcon  flier  going  at  full  speed  has  been  criticised,  because, 
forsooth,  the  body  is  too  long  and  the  hindquarters  are 
stretched  out  behind  instead  of  being  compactly  knit 
together.  .  .  .  But  stand  back  and  see  the  effect  of 
the  whole.  Is  not  the  motion,  the  life,  the  fire,  the  dash 
superb?  Could  anything  give  us  a  better  impression  of 
the  swiftness  of  flight?  " 

The  desire  to  convey  this  impression  of  movement  with 
its  associated  ideas  of  life  and  force  largely  accounts  for 
the  apparent  lack  of  imitative  accuracy  as  well  as  for  the 
presence  of  unmistakable  exaggeration  in  the  works  of 
such  artists  as  Michael  Angelo  (see  Fig.  8,  p.  96);  and 
aLso  for  these  and  for  what  seems  to  be  a  lack  of  distinct- 
ness in  the  paintings  of  Blake,  Millet,  Diaz,  Corot,  and 
Daubigny.  As  Van  Dyke  says,  in  his  "How  to  Judge 
a  Picture":  "It  is  the  attempt  of  every  true  artist  to 
paint  not  reality,  but  the  appearance  of  reality";  in 
other  words,  to  represent,  and  not  merely  to  imitate. 

All  that  has  been  said  of  drawing  in  painting  applies 
to  carving  in  sculpture.  The  method  of  finishing  sur- 
faces in  marble  or  bronze,  whether  represented  in  full  or 
in  part  relief,  is  not  determined  by  the  requirements  of 
actual  imitation,  but  by  the  appearance  that  the  result 
presents,  as  affected  by  the  play  of  light  and  shade  upon 
the  surfaces,  and  the  suggestions  of  shape,  texture,  per- 
spective,  life,   or  movement  necessarily  connected  with 


2     I 


LIFE  AND  MOVEMENT. 


97 


one  rather  than  with  another  mode  of  treatment.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  any  human  forms  with  muscles 
actually  resembling  those  in  the  figures  in  Michael 
Angelo's  "Tombs  of  the  Medici,"  at  Florence  (Fig.  8, 
page  96).  Yet  the  influence  of  light  and  shade  upon  the 
carving,  when  viewed  from  a  distance,  makes  all  seem 
wonderfully  real.  The  perspectives  represented  in  Fig. 
9,   page  97,   or  in   Fig.    10,   page  98,  suggest  shade  and 


FIG-     9—  THE    SOLDIERS    RETURN.       FROM    THE    NATIONAL    MONUMENT    NEAR 
BINQEN,  GERMANY. 

See  pages  97,  225,  242,  279,  284. 

distance  as  faithfully  as  if  depicted  on  canvas;  and  the 
slightly  elongated  or  contracted  proportions  in  Barye's 
bronzes  of  men  and  animals  give  effects  of  life  and  move- 
ment equal  to  any  attempted  in  painting.  Notice  again 
Fig.  5,  page  61. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  architecture.  To  recognise  the 
imitative  element  in  it  look  at  Fig.  11,  page  99.  Here  is 
stonework  that  looks  exactly  as  if  composed  of  wooden 
pillars  supporting  wooden  rafters.      Among  the  remains 


98 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AiSTHh  TICS. 


of  ancient  architecture  there  are  scores  of  examples  of 
both  interiors  and  exteriors  corresponding  in  effect  to 
this.  Arguing,  primarily,  from  them,  it  is  now  recog- 
nised with  practical   unanimity  that  the  stone  columns 


: 

■-    - 


■  ■'&■■■ 


FIG-  10.  — EPITOMISED    STORY  OF    ABRAHAM,    ISAAC,  AND    JACOB-RELIEF    FRO\. 
BAPTISTRY,  FLORENCE.     LORENZO  QHIBERTI. 

See  pages  97,  225. 

and  colonnades  of  the  Greek  temple  (Fig.  28,  page  219) 
were  suggested  by  those  of  previous  wooden  structures, 
and  that  these  were  suggested  by  the  series  of  poles, 
which  themselves  were  suggested  by  the  standing  tree- 
trunks  which  supported  the  coverings  of  the  primitive 


IMITATION  IN  ARCHITECTURE. 


99 


hut  (Fig.  12,  page  ioo);  also  that  the  bending  arches  of 
the  Gothic  cathedral  (see  Fig.  5  1,  page  266)  were  suggested 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  limbs  spring  from  certain 
trees  and  bend  over  pathways  on  either  side  of  which 
they  stand;  and,  once  more,  that  the  sagging  roofs,  well- 
nigh  universal  in  the  oriental  temples  (see  Fig.  52,  page 


FIG.    11.— CAVE  OF  FLFPH4NTA,   INDIA. 
See  page  97. 

280),  were  suggested  by  the  sagging  canvas  which  covered 
both  the  small  tents  and  the  great  tabernacles  of  the  an- 
cient nomadic  tribes.  Many  claim,  too,  that  there  is  not 
an  artistic  dome  or  spire  which  had  not  its  ante-type  in 
what  may  be  termed  a  natural  construction,  because  pro- 
duced by  the  primitive  man  when  giving  expression  to 
motives  little  more  human  than  those  which  lead  to  the 
products  of  the  bee  or  the  beaver.      See  Chapter  XX.  of 


IOO 


THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


the  author's  "Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as 
Representative  Arts."  It  is  not  necessary  to  argue  that, 
in  most  of  these  cases,  the  artistic  product  is  not  strictly 
an  imitation,  but  rather  a  representation  of  that  which 
forms  its  model. 

Nor  is  it  necessary  to  do  more  than  state  that  most  of 
the  representative  effects  already  considered  in  painting 


FIG-   12.— CHIEFS'   HOUSES,   KEREPUNA,   AUSTRALIA. 
See  page  99. 

have  their  correspondences  in  architecture.  Effects  of 
light  or  shade,  shape  or  texture,  and  even  aerial  effects 
produced  by  colour  in  the  one  art,  are  paralleled  by  those 
produced  in  the  other  art  by  light  or  heavy  porches,  pil- 
lars, buttresses,  or  mouldings,  as  manifested  in  different 
materials,  hues,  or  styles.  A  few  words,  however,  may 
not  be  out  of  place  with  reference  to  effects  of  distance 


ARCHITECTURAL  PERSPECTIVE.  IOI 

and  perspective  as  produced  in  architecture,  especially 
as  these  effects  are  extremely  important  and  are  usually 
overlooked.  By  the  ancient  Greeks  they  were  not  over- 
looked ;  nor,  as  has  been  discovered  recently,  by  the 
mediaeval  Gothic  architects.  According  to  Prof.  W.  H. 
Goodyear,  eighty-five  Gothic  churches  in  Italy  have  floors 
rising  from  two  to  three  feet  between  the  front  door  and 
the  chancel,  while  often  the  tops  of  arches  above  the 
nave  descend    correspondingly, —  evidently    to    increase 


FIG-  13. —PHOTOGRAPHIC  EFFECT  OF   CURVED  STYLO- 
BATE  AND  COLUMN  OF   THE  PARTHENON. 

See  page  102. 

the  effects  of  distance,  according  to  the  laws  of  perspec- 
tive. These  facts  largely  explain  not  only  the  superior- 
ity of  the  ancient  and  the  mediaeval  architecture,  but  also 
the  inability  of  artists  of  our  own  times  to  interpret  all 
their  methods.  Many  curves  have  been  discovered  in  the 
older  buildings  where  we  should  use  straight  lines,  and 
many  diversities  of  measurement  where  we  should  use 
uniformity.  In  the  author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony," 
and  in  Chapter  XVI.  of  this  book,  such  conditions  are 


102  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

shown  to  be  the  results  of  applying  to  architecture  the 
laws  of  perspective  rather  than  of  proportion,  as  was 
once  supposed.  Notice  an  illustration  of  this  fact,  first, 
in  the  slight  upward  curve  in  the  platform  on  which  the 
columns  of  the  Greek  temple  rested  (Fig.  13,  page  10 1), 
as  well  as  in  the  horizontal  line  of  the  entablature  below 
the  pediment.  Fig.  14,  page  102,  will  show  one — but  not 
all — of  the  reasons  assigned  for  this  curve.      The  eye  is  a 


FIG-  14.— OPTICAL  ILLUSIONS  CAUSED   BY  LINES 
ARRANGED  AS   IN    PEDIMENTS- 

See  pages  102,  103. 

sphere,  and,  in  the  image  of  the  external  world  reflected 
on  it,  any  straight  lines  above  or  below  the  mathematical 
centre  at  which  the  eye  gazes  will  appear  to  curve  upward 
or  downward.  When  the  eyes  are  directed  toward  the 
upper  triangle  of  Fig.  14,  they  are  directed  toward  its 
mathematical  centre;  and  the  lower  base  line,  of  course, 
is  below  this  centre.  Observe,  as  a  result,  how  this  line, 
though  straight,  appears  to  curve  downward,  at  its  middle 
point.      Now  observe  the  second  drawing  in  Fig.  14.     In 


ARCHITECTURAL   PERSPECTIVE.  103 

this  the  lower  line  of  the  triangle  is  made  to  curve 
slightly  upward  at  its  middle  point.  As  a  result,  this 
line  no  longer  appears  to  curve,  but  to  be  straight.  In 
the  lower  drawing  of  Fig.  14,  two  similar  triangular  figures 
are  placed  together,  but  the  shorter  sides  of  each  triangle 
are  emphasised  by  being  tripled.  This  emphasis,  accord- 
ing to  a  well-known  mental  law,  renders  it  impossible  for 
the  mind,  when  comparing  the  two  triangles,  to  confine 
attention  to  the  single  line  forming  the  longer  side  of  the 
triangle.  The  central  point  of  attention,  when  looking 
at  each  triangle,  is  drawn  toward  its  mathematical  centre, 
and  the  two  triangles  are  compared  together  as  wholes. 
The  effect  produced  by  each  triangle,  therefore,  is  the 
same  as  that  produced  by  the  single  triangle  at  the  top 
of  Fig.  14.  In  both  the  lower  triangles,  the  long, 
straight  line  seems  to  curve  away  from  the  angle  opposite 
it,  and  the  two  long  lines, — one  of  the  one  triangle  and, 
the  other  of  the  other, —  though  placed  in  a  position 
where  they  are  exactly  parallel,  do  not  seem  to  be  so. 
Notice,  again,  the  cornice  curve  discovered  by  Professor 
Goodyear  in  the  Greek  "  Maison  Carree  at  Nimes"  (Fig. 
15,  page  104).  The  explanation  for  it  is  very  clearly 
indicated  in  Fig.  16,  page  105. 

Similar  facts  explain  differences  in  measurements  in 
the  same  building.  Penrose,  in  his  "  Principles  of  Athen- 
ian Architecture,"  says  that,  in  the  Parthenon,  the 
spaces  between  the  corner  columns  are  only  six  feet  and 
a  fraction,  whereas  between  the  other  columns  they  are 
eight  feet  and  a  fraction.  This  arrangement  was  evi- 
dently intended  to  make  all  the  spaces  seem  of  equal 
size.  No  other  arrangement  could  have  accomplished 
this  result.  Notice  the  divisions  indicated  in  each  hori- 
zontal line  in  each  rectangle  in  Fig.  62,  page  340.     All 


■•"■^ 


-•'f'Yi 
IK 


iMr.._L 


'i  tJej 


^--—rdt 


rm 


m% 


i  H^  Jiii 


<y  -.^i;p 


'.WW • 


FIQ.   15.— PHOTOGRAPHIC  EFFECT  OF  CORNICE  CURVE    IN  THE  MAISON  CARREE-— 

DRAWN  BY  J-  W.  McKECHNIE- 

See  pages  103,  126,  279. 

104 


o    y> 


106  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  sE^THETICS. 

these  divisions  are  of  equal  length.  Yet  it  is  impossible 
to  look  at  them  without  suspecting  that  the  divisions 
nearest  the  ends  of  the  lines  are  the  longest.  This  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  to  cause  these  end  divisions  to  appear 
of  the  same  length  as  the  others,  they  should  be  made 
shorter.  The  reason  why  this  is  so  is  owing,  of  course, 
to  the  roundness  of  the  eye.  When  we  look  at  the 
middle  of  a  horizontal  line,  there  is  actually  more  eye- 
surface  covered  by  the  divisions  at  the  sides  than  there 
is  by  the  divisions  seen  directly  in  front,  which  latter 
divisions  are  opposite  that  part  of  the  eye  which  is  most 
nearly  flat.  As  the  eye  is  rounded  vertically  as  well  as 
horizontally,  a  similar  principle  applies  sometimes  to 
vertical  measurements. 

In  order  to  produce  the  differences  in  measurement  of 
corresponding  factors  in  different  buildings,  an  architect 
need  merely  apply  to  architecture  the  same  methods  of 
carrying  out  the  laws  of  perspective  that  are  known  to  be 
applied  in  painting.  In  this  latter  art,  it  is  seldom  con- 
sidered necessary  to  apply  these  laws  with  mathematical 
exactness.  Each  draughtsman,  in  arranging  his  outlines, 
feels  at  liberty  to  stand  off  from  his  drawing,  and,  as  a 
result  of  repeated  examinations  and  experiments,  to  use 
his  own  ingenuity.  Indeed,  he  must  do  this,  in  any  cir- 
cumstances, because  the  required  measurements  differ 
with  every  foot  by  which  he  stands  nearer  to  his  product, 
or  farther  from  it.  Precisely  so  in  architecture.  Let  the 
man  in  Fig.  16,  page  105,  step  a  few  feet  farther  away 
from  the  building,  and,  in  order  to  preserve  the  same 
effect,  not  only  would  the  curve  in  the  cornice  have  to  be 
lessened,  but  the  columns  at  either  end  of  the  colonnade 
would  have  to  be  brought  nearer  together.  Let  a  temple 
placed  upon  the  brow  of  a  hill  be  intended  to  produce  a 


A  R  CHI  Th.  C  T  URA  L  PER  SPE  C  TI VE. 


10; 


certain  effect  upon  those  ascending  it  and  the  pediment 
would  have  to  be  higher  than  if  it  were  intended  to  pro- 
duce the  same  effect  upon  those  on  a  level  plain.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  we  find  such  variations  in  the  meas- 
urements, and  such  apparent  lack  of  meaning  in  the 
variations,  as  are  indicated  in  the  following,  taken  from 
Penrose : 


Buildings. 


Jupiter  Olympus,  stylo- 
bate,    flank .      .      .      . 

Theseum,  stylobate: 

front 

flank 

Parthenon,      sub  -  base- 
ment, front 

flank 

stylobate,   front 

flank 

entablature   from  east 

front 

do    on  flank  restored. 

Propylcea,      entablature 
from  east  portico  . 


Actual  length 
of  the  front  or 
flank  measured. 


354-2 
45- 

I02.2 

IO4.2 
221. 
IOI.3 
228.1 

I00.2 

227. 

68.  i 


Actual  rise  above  a 

straight  line 

joining 

the  extremities. 


.25  nearly 

.063 
.  101 

.150 
•233 
.22S 

•355 

171  =f  .22; 

•307 

.119 


Proportional  rise 
corresponding  to  a 
length  of  100  feet. 


.07 

.  140 

.097 

•145 

.105 

225  =  f.145  )   >,i? 

156=  f.105  S  >  g 

.171 

•  135 

•  175 


In  the  age  in  which  the  Greek  temples  were  constructed, 
other  artists  believed — and  why  not  the  architect? — that 
a  man  should  study  upon  a  product,  if  he  intended  to 
have  it  rem  tin  a  model  for  all  the  future.  Is  it  not 
natural  to  suppose  that  in  such  an  age  the  structural 
arrangements  intended  to  counteract  optical  defects,  or 
to  produce  optical  illusions,  or,  as  some  think,  to  pro- 
duce, in  connection  with  these,  effects  of  variety  or  of 
vagueness  in  line  or  outline  (see  page  89),  were  largely 
the   results   of   the  individual  experiments  of  individual 


IOS  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  /ESTHETICS. 

builders?  If  not  such  results,  why  were  they  invariably 
different  in  different  buildings  ?  But  if  they  were  such, 
the  predominating  motive  in  the  mind  of  the  artist  was  not 
to  imitate  any  particular  form  that  he  had  seen  before,  so 
much  as  to  represent  its  general  effect.  Thus,  from  the 
beginning  of  architecture  in  which  we  see  the  builder 
taking  suggestions  from  primitive  huts  or  from  the  trunks 
and  branches  of  trees  in  nature,  to  the  highest  stage  of 
its  development,  where  we  see  him  taking  suggestions 
from  the  works  of  previous  architects,  we  find  him,  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  is  a  great  artist,  representing  rathei 
than  imitating. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ART   AS    REPRESENTATIVE    RATHER    THAN    COMMUNICA- 
TIVE   OF   THOUGHTS   AND    EMOTIONS. 

Artistic  Treatment  does  Not  Increase,  and  may  Diminish  the  Communi- 
cative Qualities  of  a  Product — Art  Involves  Communication  through 
Using  or  Referring  to  Natural  Appearances  ;  i.  e.,  through  Represent- 
ing these — Representation  of  Thoughts  and  Emotions  through  Sus- 
tained and  Unsustained  Vocal  Sounds — Used  Respectively  in  Song 
and  in  Speech — Music  does  Not  Communicate,  but  Represents  Under- 
lying Tendencies  of  Mental  Processes — Analogous  to  Natural  Processes 
— Freedom  of  Imaginative  Inference  Stimulated  also  in  Poetry,  which 
should  Represent,  rather  than  Communicate — Illustration — Same 
Principle  Applied  to  Whole  Poems — The  Moral  in  Poetry  is  Repre- 
sented— Visible  Arts  Represent  Thoughts  and  Feelings — Paintings  and 
Statues  are  Ranked  According  to  the  Quality  of  the  Significance  which 
they  Represent — Illustrated  in  Pictures  of  Flowers  or  Fruit — Of  Natu- 
ral Scenery — Of  Portraits  and  Human  Figures — Architectural  Repre- 
sentation, and  how  it  is  Related  to  Musical — Representative  Character 
of  Foundations,  Walls,  and  Roofs  —  Of  Constructive  Designs  and 
General  Plan — Communicative  Effects  of  Such  Representation. 

JUST  as  representation  is  a  more  appropriate  term  than 
imitation  through  which  to  indicate  the  result  of  an 
artistic  reproduction  of  the  appearances  of  nature,  so  the 
same  word  is  more  appropriate  than  communication  or  any 
like  term  through  which  to  indicate  the  artistic  expression 
of  thoughts  or  feelings.  If  this  were  not  so,  if  the  pri- 
mary object  of  art  were  to  communicate,  then  would  it 

IOQ 


110  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

not  do  this  more  successfully  than  do  other  forms  of  ex- 
pression? But  does  art  do  this  more  successfully?  To 
say  nothing  of  music  and  architecture,  which  all  men 
know  to  be  very  deficient  in  the  matter  of  communicating 
definite  information  of  any  kind,  do  poetry,  painting,  and 
sculpture  give  a  more  satisfactory  communication  with 
reference  to  thought  or  feeling,  in  the  sense  of  indicating 
more  clearly  exactly  what  a  particular  thought  or  feeling 
is,  than  do  sounds  and  sights  as  they  are  used  in  ordinary 
speech  and  writing?  The  moment  we  ask  the  question, 
we  are  ready  to  answer,  No.  A  frequent  effect  of  making 
any  method  of  communication  more  artistic  is  to  make  it 
less  intelligible.  As  a  rule,  sighs,  shrieks,  wails,  can  com- 
municate, and  cause  a  listener  to  realise,  too,  the  particu- 
lar thought  or  feeling  to  which  they  give  expression  far 
more  unmistakably  than  is  possible  for  a  musical  passage, 
unaccompanied  by  words,  whatever  may  be  the  amount 
of  its  hush,  trill,  force,  or  complexity.  As  a  rule,  a  plain, 
direct  utterance  of  sentiment,  or  statement  of  fact,  is  far 
more  readily  apprehended,  if  that  be  all  that  is  desired, 
than  the  most  imaginative  effort  of  poetry.  As  a  rule,  a 
few  objects  carelessly  but  clearly  drawn  or  carved,  even 
if  as  rudely  as  in  an  ancient  hieroglyph,  a  few  tree- 
trunks  roughly  built  together  for  support  and  shelter, 
can  convey  intelligence  of  their  purpose  much  more  dis- 
tinctly than  works  of  painting  or  sculpture  or  architecture 
upon  which  men  have  expended  years  of  labour.  Were 
the  communication  of  thought  or  feeling  the  object  of 
art,  it  would  be  a  very  senseless  undertaking  to  try  to 
attain  this  object  and  expend  years  of  labour  upon  it  by 
making  the  forms  of  communication  from  which  art  is 
developed  less  communicative. 

Yet,  evidently,  these  forms  of  natural  expression — in 


NATURE  REPRESENTED  IN  ART  III 

tonation,  speech,  drawing,  colouring,  constructing, — just 
at  the  point  where  most  satisfactory  as  means  of  com- 
municating thought  and  feeling,  lack  something  that  art 
needs.  What  is  this?  It  is  not  difficult  to  tell,  and  is 
clearly  suggested  by  all  that  has  been  unfolded  thus  far 
in  this  essay.  They  lack  that  which  can  be  given,  in 
connexion  with  expression,  by  the  reproduction  of  the 
effects  of  nature.  Penmanship  and  hieroglyphics  lack 
the  appearances  of  nature  that  are  copied  in  painting  and 
sculpture.  Prose  lacks  figures  of  speech  and  descriptions 
that  in  poetry  are  constantly  directing  attention  to  the 
same  appearances;  and  even  the  elements  subsequently 
developed  into  music  and  architecture  lack  traces  of  a 
very  keen  observation  and  extensive  use  of  effects  in 
nature  which  would  not  need  to  be  observed  or  used  at 
all,  were  the  end  in  view  attainable  by  the  mere  com- 
munication of  thought  or  feeling.  Were  communication 
the  end  of  any  art,  the  elaboration  of  the  forms  of  nature 
would  cease  at  the  point  where  they  became  sufficient  for 
this  purpose.  But  it  does  not  cease  there,  and  it  does 
not  do  so  because  art  must  express  thought  or  feeling  by 
way  not  of  communication,  but  of  representation. 

Let  us  notice  this  fact,  and  certain  legitimate  infer- 
ences to  be  drawn  from  it,  as  applied,  first,  to  the  arts  of 
sound.  When  a  man,  or  any  living  creature,  gives  vocal 
expression  to  that  which  actuates  him,  there  are  two  dis- 
tinct forms  which  this  may  assume,  both  of  which,  how- 
ever, all  creatures  cannot  always  produce.  The  sounds 
may  be  either  sustained  or  unsustained.  A  dog,  for 
instance,  howls,  and  also  barks;  a  cat  purrs  and  also 
mews — the  latter  in  both  a  sustained  and  an  unsustained 
way;  a  bird  warbles  and  also  chirps;  a  man  sings  and 
also   talks.       Here,   in   the  lowest  and  most   elementary 


112  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

forms  of  vocal  expression,  we  seem  to  find  that  which 
separates  musical  notes  from  talking  tones.  It  is  a  differ- 
ence in  that  which  is  represented,  and  it  is  the  only  dif- 
ference that  does  separate  them.  All  the  other  distinctions 
that  can  be  made  between  sounds  characterise  alike 
those  of  song  and  of  speech.  Sounds  differ  in  time, 
force,  pitch,  and  quality.  According  to  the  first,  one 
sound  may  have  more  duration  than  another.  Artistic- 
ally developed,  in  connexion  with  force,  this  difference 
leads  to  rhythm.  But  there  is  rhythm  in  poetry  as  well 
as  in  music.  According  to  the  second,  one  sound  may 
be  louder  than  another.  But  this  kind  of  emphasis  is  as 
common  in  conversation  as  in  chanting.  According  to 
the  third,  one  sound  may  be  higher  in  the  musical  scale 
than  another.  Artistically  developed,  this  leads  to  tune. 
But  the  voice  rises  and  falls  in  speakir.g  as  well  as  in 
singing.  According  to  the  fourth,  one  sound  is  more 
sweet  and  resonant  than  another.  But  the  differences 
between  pure,  orotund,  guttural,  pectoral,  and  aspirated 
tones  are  as  decided  as  are  those  between  the  tones  in 
different  parts  in  singing  and  between  the  characters  of 
the  sounds  produced  by  different  musical  instruments. 

When  we  come  to  use  the  word  sustained,  however,  we 
can  say  that  in  music  a  tone  is  sustained  in  time  with  a 
degree  of  force  at  one  pitch  and  with  one  kind  of  quality^ 
in  a  sense  that  is  not  true  as  applied  to  speaking.  We 
may  use  articulated  words  in  a  song,  yet  there  is  a  radi- 
cal difference  between  singing  them  and  talking  them. 
If  the  different  methods  be  representative,  sustained 
sounds  must  represent  something  sustained,  and  the 
others  something  not  sustained.  As  a  rule,  an  internal 
process  is  continued  or  sustained  because  it  is  not  inter- 
rupted.     As  a  rule,  too,  that  which  interrupts  is  external 


SONG  AND   SPEECH  1 1  3 

to  the  thoughts  and  feelings  in  which  this  process  is 
going  on.  Interrupt  the  creature  producing  the  sustained 
sounds, — go  out  at  night  and  speak  to  your  howling  dog, 
take  the  milk  from  a  purring  cat,  the  nest  from  a  warbling 
bird,  or  the  plaything  from  a  singing  child,  —  and  at  once 
you  will  hear  sounds  of  the  other  form, — barking,  mew- 
ing, chirping,  and  scolding  in  words.  We  may  say, 
therefore,  that  birds  and  men  naturally  sing  to  meet  de- 
mands that  come  from  within;  they  naturally  chirp  and 
talk  to  meet  those  that  come  from  without.  The  sounds 
of  singing  continue  as  long  as  their  producer  wishes  to 
have  them  ;  those  of  chirping  or  talking  are  checked  as 
soon  as  they  have  accomplished  their  outside  purpose, 
and  are  continued  only  by  way  of  reiteration  or  change, 
in  order  to  suit  the  changing  effects  that  they  are  per- 
ceived to  have  upon  the  creatures  or  persons  toward 
whom  they  are  directed.  Singing  need  not  convey  any 
definite  intelligence,  because  there  is  no  intrinsic  neces- 
sity that  anybody  should  understand  it.  Chirping  or 
talking  must  convey  definite  intelligence,  because  this  is 
its  object. 

These  two  conditions  respectively  correspond  exactly, 
as  will  be  observed,  to  those  which  underlie  effects  in 
music  and  in  poetry.  Music  is  often  said  to  represent 
the  feelings.  But,  as  indicated  on  page  55,  there  is  a 
certain  degree  of  feeling  under  the  mental  process  repre- 
sented in  any  form  of  art.  The  exact  truth  with  refer- 
ence to  music  is  that  it  represents  certain  classes  of 
sustained  and  subjective  feelings,  joyous  or  sad,  to  which 
there  is  no  outside  or  objective  reason  for  giving  definite 
or  intelligible  expression.  Therefore,  while  other  arts, 
by  words,  shapes,  or  colours,  confine  thought  to  some 
extent,  indicating,  as  they  do  in  no  unmistakable  way, 


114  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

that  of  which  one  should  think,  music,  when  it  has  once 
stirred  the  emotions,  leaves  these  to  suggest  whatever 
thoughts  of  joy  or  of  sadness  may  lie  nearest  to  the  heart 
of  the  man  who  is  under  its  control.  The  same  strains 
may  affect  differently,  so  far  as  regards  merely  the  form 
of  thought,  the  experience  of  every  one  who  listens  to 
them.  It  may  make  a  child  think  of  his  nursery,  a  youth 
of  his  school,  a  merchant  of  his  counting-room.  Yet, 
with  all  this,  it  would  be  an  error  to  think  that  the  men- 
tal influence  of  the  art  is  slight.  The  story  of  the  men 
hired  to  assassinate  Stradella,  who,  after  listening  to  his 
oratorio  in  Rome,  dropped  their  weapons  and  became 
the  saviours  of  his  life,  is  only  one  story  of  a  thousand 
evincing  men's  belief  in  the  contrary. 

Of  course,  this  conception  of  music  involves  its  repre- 
senting something  which,  though  in  one  sense  indefinite, 
nevertheless  is  fitted  to  have  what  may  be  termed  a 
definite  tendency  of  effect.  Why  this  is  true  can  be 
shown  only  when  we  come,  in  Chapter  XII.,  to  analyse 
the  elements  of  representative  expression  in  music.  At 
present,  it  is  enough  to  point  out  that  there  are  certain 
analogies  between  processes  of  the  mind  and  processes  of 
nature;  and  that  these  analogies  can  be  and  are  repre- 
sented in  the  best  compositions.  Here  is  part  of  a 
description  of  the  meaning  of  the  movements  of  a  sym- 
phony, published  in  an  article  on  "The  Intellectual  In- 
fluence of  Music,"  by  Dr.  J.  S.  Dwight,  in  the  Atlantic 
Mont  lily  for  1870: 

"How  is  it  with  us  when  a  matter  interests  us  and  ex- 
cites us  to  that  pitch  of  feeling  in  which  music  steps  in  as 
the  natural  language?  Our  whole  nature  is  engaged  in 
it :  reason,  passion,  frolic,  humour,  will.  If  a  matter  taxes 
our  reasoning,  truth-seeking  faculties  for  one  spell,  it  is 


REPRESENTA  T10N  IN  MUSIC.  1 1  5 

a  law  of  our  nature  that  we  then  quit  thinking  and  only 
feel  about  it  for  another  spell.  We  modulate  out  of  the 
dialectic*  into  the  religious  and  accepting  mode.+  It  was 
an  argument,  an  emulous  labour  of  the  brain;  it  has  be- 
come a  lyric  of  the  heart,  a  prayer,  a  hymn.  And  then, 
the  more  we  have  been  in  earnest,  the  more  naturally 
comes  the  reaction  of  frolic  fantasy  and  humour,  the  more 
lively  the  suggestions  and  'heat-lightnings'  of  a  quick, 
surcharged,  midsummer  fancy — the  scherzo  humours  that 
so  often  flash  from  characters  of  deepest  pathos.  But  the 
circle  of  moods  is  not  yet  complete.  Thought,  feeling, 
fancy,  are  but  phases  of  the  living  stream  that  yet  must 
ultimate  itself  in  action,  must  rush  into  deed,  and  so  pour 
its  life  into  the  great  ocean  whence  all  proceed  and  to 
which  all  tend.     That  is  the  finale." 

The  freedom  of  inference  just  mentioned  as  character- 
istic of  the  effects  of  music  is,  to  some  extent,  character- 
istic of  the  effects  of  all  the  arts.  As  intimated  on  page 
80,  these  arts  are  representative  for  the  very  purpose  of 
appealing  in  a  stimulating  way  to  imagination.  What  is 
imagination?  It  is  the  faculty  of  the  mind  that  forms 
images.  Of  course,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appeal  is 
made  so  definite  that  nothing,  as  we  say,  is  left  to  im- 
agination, it  is  not  stimulated.  Let  us  apply  this  prin- 
ciple now  to  poetry.  Words  apparently  convey  definite 
meanings,  yet  it  is  a  fact  that  they  can  also  be  represen- 
tative. If  not,  they  are  merely  presentative  or  com- 
municative, and,  therefore,  not  poetic,  but  prosaic.  To 
understand  this  distinction  is  necessary  to  an  under- 
standing of  poetic  art.  Take,  for  instance,  these  verses 
by  Longfellow.  What  he  wishes  to  say  is  that  death 
may  overtake  the  artist  before  he  acquires  the  skill  on 

*The  Allegro.  \ The  Andante, 


Il6  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

which  his  heart  is  set.  Had  he  merely  communicated, 
or  stated,  this  fact,  he  would  have  written  prose;  but  he 
represented  it,  and  therefore  we  call  what  he  wrote 
poetry,  e.  g.  : 

Art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting. 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 
Still  like  muffled  d  urns  are  beating 

Funeral  marches  to  the  grave, 

The  Psalm  of  Life. 

Again,  if  certain  persons  be  doing  certain  things,  one 
who  sees  them  will  probably  draw  some  inferences  from 
their  actions  with  reference  to  their  motives,  and  he  will 
have  a  right  to  tell  his  inferences  — in  prose;  but  not,  as  a 
rule,  in  poetry.  In  this,  he  must  picture  what  he  has 
observed,  and  leave  others,  as  free  as  he  himself  has 
been.,  to  infer  what  they  choose.  At  the  same  time,  in 
the  degree  in  which  he  is  an  artist,  his  picture  will  be  of 
such  a  character  as  to  impel  others  to  draw  from  it  the 
same  inference  that  he  himself  has  drawn.  Notice  the 
following.  The  reader  will  remember,  perhaps,  that 
when  Hall  began  to  read,  he  described  his  poem  as  being 
"nothing  worth."  The  mention  of  this  fact  will  explain 
the  use  of  the  phrase  "There,  now, — that  's  nothing!" 
in  the  quotation. 

Here  ended  Hall,  and  our  last  light,  that  long 

Had  winked  and  threatened  darkness,  flared  and  fell  ; 

At  which  the  Parson,  sent  to  sleep  with  sound, 

And  waked  with  silence,  grunted  "  Good  !  "  but  we 

Sat  rapt  ;  it  was  the  tone  with  which  he  read — 

Perhaps  some  modern  touches  here  and  there 

Redeemed  it  from  the  charge  of  nothingness, — 

Or  else  we  loved  the  man,  and  prized  his  work  ; 

I  know  not  ;  but  we  sitting,  as  I  said, 

The  cock  crew  loud  :   as  at  that  time  of  year 

The  lusty  bird  takes  every  hour  fur  dawn  : 


REPRESENTA  TION  IN  POETRY.  WJ 

Then  Francis,  muttering,  like  a  man  ill-used, 

"  There,  now, — that  's  nothing  !  "  drew  a  little  back, 

And  drove  his  heel  into  the  smouldered  log, 

That  sent  a  blast  of  sparkles  up  the  flue  ; 

And  so  to  bed. 

Mart  if  Arthur  :    Tennyson. 

Is  not  this  simple  tale  of  what  was  done,  much  more 
expressive  than  would  have  been  a  long  prosy  description 
of  what  was  felt?  This  example  shows,  therefore,  that 
poetry  may  be  strictly  representative  of  external  sights 
and  sounds, — may  confine  itself  to  that  which  reproduces 
for  the  imagination  a  picture  ;  and  yet  may  be  equally  and 
in  the  highest  sense  representative  also  of  those  ideas  and 
feelings  which  exist  in  only  the  mind. 

This  same  principle  applies  not  only  to  single  passages, 
but  to  whole  poems.  When  Dante,  Shakespeare,  and 
Milton  first  conceived  their  greatest  works,  it  must  have 
been  a  picture  that  appeared  to  loom  before  their  imagi- 
nations; and  every  poem,  as  a  whole,  even  if  as  long  as 
"Othello,"  "Faust,"  or  the  "^Eneid,"  must  furnish  what 
may  be  termed  a  moving  image  of  the  action  which  it  is 
designed  not  to  state,  but  to  represent.  It  is  from  this 
image  that  the  reader  must  be  able  to  draw  whatever  moral 
is  to  be  indicated.  The  drama  of  "Othello,"  for  instance, 
pictures  to  us,  in  such  a  way  that  we  cannot  fail  to 
perceive,  the  successive  stages  of  jealousy,  as  developed 
both  in  a  frank,  magnanimous  character  like  Othello,  and 
in  a  deceitful,  malicious  character  like  Iago. 

Tennyson  has  well  expressed  this  fact  with  reference 
to  poetry  in  what  he  calls  The  Moral  of  his  Day-Dream. 

So,  Lady  Flora,  take  my  lay, 

And  if  you  find  no  moral  there, 
Go,  look  in  any  glass  and  sayw 

What  moral  is  in  being  fair. 


Il8  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

O  to  what  uses  shall  we  put 

The  vvildweed-flower  that  simply  blows  ? 

And  is  there  any  moral  shut 
Within  the  bosom  of  the  rose  ? 

But  he  has  suggested  in  his  next  stanza  another  truth 
that  needs  to  be  considered  in  connection  with  the  last, 
before  all  the  facts  concerning  the  functions  of  poetry  in 
the  world  can  be  understood. 

But  any  man  that  walks  the  mead 

In  bud,  or  blade,  or  bloom,  may  find, 
According  as  his  humours  lead, 

A  meaning  suited  to  his  mind. 
And  liberal  applications  lie 

In  Art  like  Nature,  dearest  friend, 
So  't  were  to  cramp  its  use,  if  I 

Should  hook  it  to  some  useful  end. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  application  of  this  phase  of 
our  subject  to  visible  forms.  A  little  thought  will  cause 
us  to  recognise  that  it  is  impossible  to  take  very  great  in- 
terest in  a  face,  or  figure,  or  even  in  a  view  of  rocks,  or 
foliage,  or  water,  except  as  something  in  the  expression 
of  the  face,  or  in  the  attitude  of  the  figure,  or  in  the 
arrangement  or  general  effect  of  the  objects  comprised  in 
the  view,  strikes  us,  as  we  say.  This  is  a  graphic  way  of 
affirming  that  thoughts  and  emotions  are  stirred  to  ac- 
tivity when  the  eye  perceives  objects,  just  as  inevitably 
as  rays  of  light  surround  a  match  when  it  is  struck.  In- 
separably, in  such  cases  two  elements  of  interest  are 
present.  One  is  the  result  of  the  effect  perceived  by  the 
eye;  the  other,  of  the  effect  experienced  in  the  mind. 
What  is  true  of  these  natural  appearances,  is  true  also  of 
artistic  reproductions  of  them.     Why  has  the  world  sel- 


REPRESENTATION  IN  PAINTING.  1 19 

dom,  if  ever,  assigned  the  same  rank  to  painters  of  merely 
flowers  or  fruits,  or  even  of  landscapes,  that  it  has  as- 
signed to  those,  like  Raphael,  Titian,  or  Rubens,  who 
have  depicted  the  human  figure?  Why  are  the  greatest 
names  in  the  history  of  sculpture  those  whose  statues  are 
of  men?  It  is  as  difficult — not  only  so  but,  sometimes, 
because  their  laws  of  proportion  have  been  less  studied, 
more  difficult — to  model  the  forms  of  animals. 

The  answer  to  this  is  that  the  world  in  general  judges 
of  subjects  by  the  possibilities  of  significance  in  them. 
There  are  both  greater  opportunity  and  necessity  for  man- 
ifesting thought  and  emotion  in  connection  with  a  land- 
scape than  with  a  dish  of  fruit  or  a  vase  of  flowers;  and 
in  connection  with  human  figures  than  with  landscapes. 
Of  course,  many  pictures  of  fruits  and  flowers  are  su- 
perior, as  works  of  art,  to  many  pictures  of  human 
figures;  but  in  case  of  equal  skill  displayed  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  form,  the  art-work  ranks  highest  which 
necessitates  thought  and  emotion  of  the  highest  quality. 
This  principle  enables  us  to  rank  as  subjects  not  only 
flowers  and  fruits  below  landscapes,  and  landscapes  below 
human  figures,  but  to  rank  below  others  certain  products 
representing  exactly  the  same  objects.  For  instance, 
flowers,  oranges,  grapes,  apples,  or  wine  or  beer  in  a 
glass, — all  these  may  be  portrayed  so  skilfully  as  to  be 
exceedingly  artistic.  But  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  the 
appeal  of  the  picture  as  a  thing  of  significance  may  be 
differently  determined  by  different  circumstances.  A 
vase  of  flowers  represented  as  being  in  a  room  upon  the 
sill  of  a  closed  window,  beyond  which,  outside  the  house, 
can  be  seen  snowdrifts  and  frost-laden  trees;  or  fruits  and 
viands  represented  as  heaped  upon  a  table  where  never- 
theless   a   half-empty    plate  and    glass  and  an  unfolded 


120  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

napkin  give  evidence  that  some  one  has  already  par- 
taken of  all  that  he  wishes,  with,  perhaps,  a  window  near 
by,  through  which  a  half-starved  face  of  a  child  is  wist- 
fully peering, — arrangements  like  these,  or  hundreds  of  a 
similar  character,  which  might  be  thought  out  or  felt 
out,  would  put  thought  and  emotion  into  the  picture; 
and  thus  make  it  representative  of  these.  Can  anybody 
deny  that  pictures  thus  made  significant  by  means  of 
arrangement,  if  equally  well  executed,  would  rank  higher 
than  pictures  merely  imitative? 

If  this  be  true  of  representations  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
it  must  be  still  more  true  of  those  of  natural  scenery.  It 
is  possible  for  a  painter  to  imitate  the  outlines  and  colours 
of  scenes  that  he  sees  before  him,  without  reference  to 
any  consciousness  of  receiving  or  conveying  impressions 
of  thought  or  emotion  in  connection  with  them.  But 
the  greatest  painters  do  more  than  this.  "The  Storm  " 
of  Millet  (Fig.  7,  page  91)  is  not  a  great  picture;  but  it 
deserves  a  higher  rank  than  it  might  otherwise  deserve 
on  account  of  the  apparent  human  influence  which  has 
made  a  unity  of  its  every  suggestion.  In  the  "Land- 
scape with  Waterfall"  of  Ruysdael,  in  the  National 
Gallery  in  London,  the  ground,  trees,  clouds,  and  atmos- 
phere seem  filled  with  water;  and  in  his  "Jewish  Ceme- 
tery "  in  the  Dresden  Gallery  (Fig.  17,  page  121)  the 
profound  melancholy  of  the  whole  is  only  heightened  by 
the  contrasting  light  of  the  pale  sunbeam  that  falls  upon 
some  few  tombstones,  and  of  the  rainbow  in  the  rear. 
All  things  else, — the  decaying  gravestones,  the  decaying 
building,  the  decaying  tree,  barkless  and  crooked;  and, 
not  only  these,  but,  in  strict  analogy  with  them,  the 
clouds  and  water,  too,  under  the  influence  of  wind  and 
current,  are  absolutely  congruous  in  their  general  effects. 


REPRESENTATION  IN  PAINTING. 


121 


In  Claude's  "Morning"  in  the  Dresden  Gallery,  we  have 
represented  not  only  in  a  yellow  sky  the  dawn  of  the 
day,  but  suggestions    of    the    dawning   or   beginning    of 


FIG.  17.-JEWISH    CEMETERY.— J-    RUYSDAEL. 
See  page  120 


many  other  things — as,  for  instance,  in  a  lake  the  begin- 
ning of  a  river:   in  a  shepherd  playing  on  his  pipe,  the 


122 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


beginning  of  music;  in  a  maid  sitting  beside  him,  the 
beginning  of  romance;  in  a  basket,  as  yet  unopened,  cov- 
ered with  a  white  cloth,  as  well  as  in  another  maid,  draw- 
ing water  from  a  well,  the  beginning  of  social  feasting; 
in  a  castle  built  in  an  early  style,  the  beginning  of  art  or 
architecture;  in  a  city  faintly  seen  at  a  distance,  the  begin- 


FIQ.  18.-CARD   PLAYERS.— CARAVAGQIO. 
See  pages  123,  192,  243. 


ning  of  civilisation  ;  in  a  group  called  the  Holy  Family, 
because  of  its  resemblance  to  this,  as  conventionally 
depicted,  the  beginning  of  religion. 

When  we  come  to  pictures  into  which,  as  into  this  last, 
human  figures  are  introduced,  there  seems  to  be  no  end 


REPRESENTA  I  ION  IN  r  A  IN  TING. 


123 


of  the  ways  in  which  they  can  be  made  representative. 
Notice  what  is  said  on  page  192,  of  the  portraits  of  Titian 
and  of  Reynolds  ;  and  on  the  same  page  of  the  "  Card  Play- 
ers, "by  Caravaggio  (Fig.  18,  page  122).  Consider,  too,  the 
statue  of  the  Laocoon  (Fig.  19,  page  123).  Can  any  one 
fail  to  recognise  how 
largely  its  excellence  is 
owing  to  the  clear  and 
emphatic  way  in  which 
it  represents  certain 
thoughts  and  emo- 
tions? Again,  take 
the  picture  represented 
in  Fig.  20,  page  125, 
used  here  by  the  kind 
permission  of  its  own- 
er, Mr.  Charles  T. 
Yerkes.  In  this  pic- 
ture a  fashionable  wo- 
man is  represented  as 
having  left  her  carriage 
in  charge  of  her  coach- 
man and  footman,  and 
seated  herself  in  a  park 
on  a  bench  large 
enough  for  two.  For  whom  is  she  waiting?  What 
is  her  ideal?  Just  above  her  is  a  statue  of  a  man 
without  a  head,  but  holding,  where  his  mouth  should 
be,  a  flute, — a  man  without  a  head  who  nevertheless 
is  ready  to  pipe  for  her!  Without  using  any  means 
to  which  any  one  could  object  on  the  ground  of  its 
not  being  appropriate  for  the  art  of  painting  (see 
page  1 59)>     this    picture    outlines    a    story    as    clearly 


FIG.  19.  -SCULPTURED  GROUP  OF  THE  LAOCOON 
See  pages  123,  193,  224,  295. 


124  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHET1CS 

and  completely — and  very  much  in   the    same    way — as 
one  of  Heine's  lyrics. 

Architecture  may  produce  the  same  effect  as  that 
which  we  have  just  been  attributing  to  the  other  arts. 
One  may  have  merely  constructed  a  box.  But  the  way 
in  which  he  has  done  this,  to  some  extent,  represents 
him.  If,  in  addition  to  what  is  useful,  he  have  produced 
what  is  ornamental,  if  he  have  laid  out  a  flower  garden  or 
carved  the  lid  of  a  box,  then  his  product  represents  him 
still  more, —  shows  something  more  about  his  nature, 
tastes,  feelings,  and  susceptibilities  for  sentiment.  Archi- 
tecture, like  music,  represents,  not  a  responsive  and  un- 
sustained,  but  a  spontaneous  and  sustained  mood.  In 
both  arts  there  is  less  conscious  imitation  than  in  the 
other  arts,  and,  in  both,  such  effects  as  are  imitated,  after 
being  developed  in  part,  continue  to  be  developed,  to  a 
degree  not  true  in  the  other  arts,  according  to  an  inward 
law  of  their  own.  Using  as  a  theme  a  few  notes  repre- 
senting a  mood  of  mind  as  indicated  by  a  song  of  nature, 
the  musician  goes  on  to  compose  a  whole  symphony  to 
correspond  with  them.  So,  from  a  few  outlines  of  win- 
dows, doors,  or  roofs,  the  architect  goes  on  to  construct 
a  whole  building  to  correspond  with  these.  This  method 
he  applies  not  only  to  the  development  of  new  forms,  but 
to  the  ornamentation  of  old  forms.  In  doing  this,  he 
merely  carries  out  a  principle  exemplified  in  the  action 
of  the  human  mind  in  any  like  relation.  For  instance, 
a  man,  for  practical  purposes,  produces  a  piece  of  woven 
cloth  or  something  made  through  the  use  of  it.  That 
the  cloth  may  not  ravel  at  its  edge,  a  section  of  it  is  pur- 
posely unravelled  there,  or  a  hem  is  made  here,  or,  if  two 
pieces  of  cloth  be  used,  a  seam  is  produced  where  the 


126  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

two  are  joined.  After  a  little,  according  to  a  law  which 
the  mind  always  follows,  the  imagination  begins  to  ex- 
periment with  these  necessary  contrivances,  and  then  the 
unravelled  edge,  the  hem,  the  seam,  each  respectively, 
becomes  a  fringe,  a  border,  or  a  stripe;  i.  e.,  each  is  de- 
veloped into  one  of  the  well-known  ornamental  resources 
of  the  art  of  the  tailor  or  the  upholsterer.  It  is  the  same 
in  architecture.  When  the  imagination  begins  to  play 
with  the  underpinnings  of  buildings,  or  with  the  means 
of  approaching  and  entering  them,  it  gives  us  founda- 
tions, steps,  or  porches;  when  with  the  parts  upholding 
the  roof,  it  gives  us  pillars,  pilasters,  or  buttresses;  and 
when  with  the  tops,  sides,  and  bottoms  of  openings,  it 
gives  us  caps,  or  sills  of  doors  or  windows ;  when  with 
the  roof  and  its  immediate  supports,  it  gives  entablatures, 
eves,  gables,  domes,  or  spires. 

All  these  features,  moreover,  are  representative.  If 
the  foundations  be  apparent  and  large,  they  indicate 
support  and  sufficient  support  (Fig.  15,  page  104).  If  the 
steps  or  entrances  be  broad,  they  indicate  accommodations 
on  the  inside  for  a  multitude  (Fig.  34,  page  227).  If  the 
windows  be  high  or  wide,  they  indicate  a  high  or  wide 
room  on  the  inside  (Fig.  29,  page  220).  In  thoroughly 
successful  architecture,  the  walls  are  especially  trans- 
parent, as  it  were,  revealing  all  the  internal  arrangements. 
Horizontal  mouldings  or  string-courses  show  where  the 
floors  are,  and  vertical  buttresses  or  pilasters,  where  are 
the  partitions.  Notice  how  the  floors  and  walls  of  every 
room  in  the  interior  seem  to  be  represented  in  the  facade 
of  the  University  at  Sydney  (Fig.  21,  page  127).  Roofs, 
when  artistic,  are  visible.  In  public  buildings,  at  least, 
they  should  indicate  the  shapes  of  the  ceilings  under 
them.      A   dome    is   out   of    place   unless  it  span  a  vast 


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128  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

space;  and  towers  and  spires  are  inexcusable  unless  they 
be  adaptations  of  features  that  are  useful. 

When  an  experienced  traveller  comes  upon  even  ruins, 
he  draws  certain  inferences  from  the  appearances  that 
they  present.  Judging  merely  from  these,  he  says,  for 
instance,  with  reference  to  the  methods  of  construction, 
that  some  particular  pillar,  bracket,  lintel,  arch,  was 
shaped  and  placed  as  it  is  in  order  to  furnish  just  the 
support  needed  for  some  particular  weight  or  arrangement 
of  material  which  is  over  it.  Or  he  says  that  some  par- 
ticular foundation  was  laid  as  it  is  in  order  to  suit  some 
particularly  rocky,  sandy,  or  marshy  soil;  or  that  some 
particular  roof  was  pitched  as  it  is  in  order  to  fit  a  dry 
or  wet  climate,  to  shed  rain  or  snow.  Or,  judging  from 
arrangements  of  doors  or  windows,  he  says,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  general  uses  of  a  building,  that  some  particu- 
lar part  is  an  audience  hall,  a  chapel,  or  a  picture  gallery. 
Even  if  he  find  nothing  except  foundations,  he  often  de- 
clares this  to  be  a  theatre,  and  that  to  be  a  temple,  or  a 
bath,  or  a  private  house;  and  not  only  so,  but  sometimes, 
as  at  Pompeii,  he  tells  the  purpose  of  each  of  the  differ- 
ent rooms  of  the  house. 

Observe  that,  in  all  these  ways,  it  is  possible  for  a 
building  to  be  representative;  moreover,  that,  just  in  the 
degree  in  which  it  is  so,  the  interest  awakened  by  it  is 
enhanced.  It  then  comes  to  have  the  same  effect  upon 
us  that  would  be  produced  did  its  builder  stand  by  us 
and  tell  us  exactly  what  his  thoughts  were  when  design- 
ing the  arrangement  that  we  see.  It  is  as  if  he  were  to 
say:  "I  had  a  conception  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea 
in  this  position  to  have  an  arch  projected  so,  or  a  ceiling 
supported  by  a  bracket  inserted  so ;  or  a  foundation  in 
soil  like  this  laid  so  ;  or  a  roof  in  a  climate  like  this  shaped 


ARCHITECTURE.  1 29 

so ;  or  a  chapel  for  a  sect  like  this  planned  so  ;  or  an  audi- 
ence hall  for  an  assembly  like  this  arranged  so."  And 
the  more  one  knows  of  architecture,  the  more  innumera- 
ble will  he  recognise  to  be  the  thoughts  and,  in  the  de- 
gree in  which  ornamentation  is  increased,  the  aesthetic 
feelings  that  it  is  possible  for  the  architect  to  represent 
through  these  apparently  lifeless  forms  of  wood  or  brick 
or  stone. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

ART  AS  REPRESENTATIVE  RATHER  THAN  PRESENTATIVE 
OF   THE   PERSONALITY  OF  THE  ARTIST. 

Relation  of  Art  to  the  Artist — Art  Emphasises  the  Fact  that  Natural  Fac- 
tors are  Used  for  Expression — This  Fact  Reveals  a  Spirit  Capable  of 
Expressing  Thoughts  and  Emotions — Why  High  Art  Uses  Forms 
Other  than  those  Belonging  to  the  Artist's  Own  Body — Connection 
between  the  Creative  in  the  Divine  and  in  the  Artist — Both  Necessitate 
Representation — Representation  of  Spirit  and  of  the  Subconscious 
Nature — Connection  in  Art  between  Personal  and  Sympathetic  Effects 
— Explanation — How  Art  can  Represent  Appearances  as  they  Affect 
the  Individual,  and  yet  as  they  Affect  All — Owing  to  Artist's  Sympa- 
thetic Temperament — What  is  Genius  ? — Its  Effects  Representative  of 
the  Individual,  and  yet  of  Men  in  General. 

TN  Chapter  I.  it  was  said  that  art  of  the  class  which  we 
are  considering  necessitates  an  external  product,  like 
a  poem  or  a  painting,  as  distinguished  from  an  effect  pro- 
duced, as  in  elocution  or  pantomime,  by  the  movements 
of  one's  own  body.  This  is  equivalent  to  saying  that 
art  of  the  highest  rank,  in  addition  to  representing  rather 
than  imitating  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  to  repre- 
senting rather  than  communicating  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, must  represent  rather  than  present  the  personality 
of  the  artist,  meaning  here  by  the  word  personality  that 
combination  of  spirit  and  body  which  belongs  to  oneself 
as  an  individual,  and  to  no  one  else.  To  understand 
why  personality  should  be  represented  rather  than  pre- 
sented,   let    us   recall,   for   a  moment,   what  was  said   in 

130 


ARTISTIC  EXPRESSION.  131 

Chapter  III.  There,  the  impulse  to  art  was  attributed 
to  life-force  or  energy  issuing  from  the  subconscious  or 
spiritual  nature,  and  striving  to  embody  itself  in  the  ma- 
terial. We  all  know  that  the  spiritual  itself  cannot  ap- 
pear,— it  can  merely  represent  itself  in  the  material.  At 
the  same  time,  of  course,  representation  is  involved,  to 
some  extent,  in  every  form  of  expression.  All  thoughts 
and  emotions,  as  they  exist  in  the  mind,  are  inaudible 
and  invisible,  and,  in  order  to  be  communicated  to  others, 
they  must  be  symbolised  through  sights  and  sounds  bor- 
rowed from  nature.  But  there  is  a  different  use  of  these 
latter  in  ordinary  expression,  and  in  that  of  art.  In  ordi- 
nary expression,  it  is  sufficient  that  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  should  be  clearly  presented.  Upon  artistic  ex- 
pression, as  in  that  of  a  poem  or  a  statue,  years  of  labour 
are  frequently  expended  in  order  to  secure  a  result  be- 
yond that  of  mere  clearness  of  expression. 

Upon  what  is  it  that  the  artist,  in  such  cases,  expends 
his  labour?  Of  course  it  must  be  upon  that  which  the 
expression  contains  in  addition  to  the  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions. What  does  it  contain  in  addition  to  these?  No- 
thing more,  certainly,  than  the  expressional  factors.  As 
it  is  not  the  thoughts  and  emotions,  it  must  be  the  ex- 
pressional factors  that  are  intended  to  be  emphasised; 
and  when  we  recall  that  it  is  the  expressional  factors  that 
are  repeated  in  art,  and  to  what  an  extent  ail  art  involves 
repetition  (see  page  270),  and  that,  as  a  rule,  repetition 
necessarily  emphasises,  we  shall  recognise  the  truth  of 
this  inference.  But  why  should  expressional  factors, 
aside  from  that  which  they  express,  be  emphasised?  For 
no  reason,  of  course,  except  to  emphasise  the  fact  that 
they  are  expressional,  which  fact,  as  will  be  noticed,  is 
unimportant  except  so  far  as  it  involves  the  existence  of 


132  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

something  behind  them,  i.  c,  of  a  mind  capable  of  using 
them  for  this  purpose.  But  what  interest  has  the  artist 
in  manifesting,  or  the  world  in  knowing,  that  certain 
forms  of  nature  are  factors  used  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
pression by  a  mind  behind  them? 

In  answer  to  this  question,  let  us  ask  another, — Are 
there  any  problems  of  life  of  interest  so  profound  as 
those  which  have  to  do  with  the  relations  of  mind  to 
matter?  Must  it  not  be  a  fact  that  mortals  conscious  of 
a  spirit  in  them  struggling  for  expression,  feel  that  they 
are  doing  what  becomes  them  when  they  give  this  spirit 
vent  and  with  earnest  care  for  every  detail  elaborate  the 
forms  in  which  they  give  it  this?  What  are  they  doing 
when  thus  moved  but  objectifying  their  inward  processes 
of  mind;  but  organising  with  something  of  their  own  in- 
telligence, but  animating,  with  something  of  their  own 
soul,  the  forms  of  material  nature  that  are  about  them. 

Now  notice  that  these  effects  will  be  emphatically  pro- 
duced in  the  degree  alone  in  which  the  material  forms 
which  one  uses  in  his  art  are  not  those  belonging  to  his 
own  material  body.  Every  man  gives  expression  to  his 
spirit  through  using  his  own  body.  To  give  such  ex- 
pression in  the  most  emphatic  way,  one  must  do  it  in  an 
exceptional  way;  and  this  can  be  done  alone  when,  un- 
like ordinary  men,  he  uses  forms  that  are  not  an  organic 
part  of  his  own  nature  (see  page  10).  Evidently,  too,  in 
this  case,  the  external  material  forms  thus  used  cannot 
be  said  to  present — they  merely  represent — himself. 

In  our  first  chapter  it  was  said  that  the  arts  cannot 
create.  But  it  was  not  said  that  they  cannot  be  creative. 
If  by  the  creative  we  mean  the  power  which  seems  to 
represent  divine  intelligence  through  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  nature,  what  can  more  resemble  this  than  can 


THE  FACULTY  DIVINE  I  33 

the  power  of  him  who  makes  a  further  use  of  these  same 
sights  and  sounds  for  the  purpose,  through  them,  of 
representing  the  processes,  which  otherwise  might  not  be 
manifested  at  all,  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings?  Is  it 
strange  that  he  should  take  delight  and  pride  in  work  like 
this,  and  in  connection  with  it  feel  the  sources  of  the 
deepest  inspiration  stir  within  him?  Who  is  there  that 
could  not  draw  delight  and  pride  and  inspiration  from 
the  consciousness  of  being  in  the  least  degree  a  follower, 
an  imitator,  a  child  of  Him  who  created  the  heavens  and 
the  earth? 

It  is  no  wonder  that  men  attribute  the  products  of  the 
great  artists  to  "the  faculty  divine,"  or  the  "inspiration" 
of  genius.  "I  tell  you,"  said  King  Henry  VIII.  to  a 
nobleman  who  had  brought  him  an  accusation  against 
the  painter  Holbein,  "I  tell  you  of  seven  peasants  I  can 
make  as  many  lords,  but  of  seven  lords  I  could  not  make 
one  Holbein. ' '  There  is  a  real,  though  subtle  correspond- 
ence between  the  works  of  the  Creator  and  the  creative 
works  of  art.  And  just  as  the  former  reveal  the  presence 
of  the  divine  spirit,  so  the  latter  reveal  that  of  the  human 
spirit.  Precisely,  too,  as  the  divine  spirit  is  not  pre- 
sented, as  we  might  say,  through  material  forms,  but 
merely  represented  through  methods  of  movement  and 
formation,  so  with  the  human  spirit.  When  we  say  that 
a  poem  is  Miltonian  or  Shakespearian,  we  refer  less  to  the 
subject-matter  of  the  work,  than  to  the  method  repre- 
sented in  its  style  and  composition. 

Now  we  come  upon  two  apparently  anomalous  facts. 
One  might  suppose  that  representation,  exerting,  as  it 
does,  an  indirect  influence,  would  reveal  less  of  an  artist's 
character,  and  would  also  appeal  less  to  the  sympathies  of 
others,  than  would  presentation,  exerting,  as  it  does,  a 


134  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

direct  influence.  But  the  truth  seems  to  be  the  con- 
trary. Nor,  when  we  think  a  moment,  will  it  seem  sur- 
prising that  this  is  so.  As  applied  to  the  revelation  of 
character,  it  is  simply  a  fact  that  all  of  us,  in  determining 
what  a  man  is  in  his  spirit,  intentionally  or  uninten- 
tionally, judge  him  by  what  he  appears  to  be  in  his  sub- 
conscious rather  than  in  his  conscious  nature;  therefore 
more  by  what  he  unconsciously  represents  of  him- 
self than  by  what  he  consciously  presents.  This  is 
true  in  every  relation  of  life.  No  man  ever  fell  in  love 
with  a  woman  because  of  her  words  or  deeds  that  he 
supposed  attributable  to  conscious  intention.  So  with 
the  products  of  art.  The  most  professionally  trained 
dancers  and  singers  who  prove  fascinating  to  us  do  so  be- 
cause of  slight  unconscious  peculiarities  of  movement  in 
body  or  voice  which  are  characteristic  of  them  as  indi- 
viduals, and  cannot  be  acquired  by  another  with  another 
personality.  This  fact  is  true  of  the  effects  of  any  kind 
of  expression  embodied  in  any  kind  of  form.  The  chief 
charm  of  a  melody,  poem,  painting,  or  statue,  even  of  a 
building,  often  lies  in  certain  subtle  touches  given  to  it 
by  its  producer  unconsciously, — in  characteristics  which 
it  is  sometimes  impossible  for  the  critic  to  analyse  or 
even  to  describe.  Yet  it  is  these  touches  that  most 
surely  convey  the  impression  of  the  artist's  individuality. 
Need  it  be  said  that  they  do  not  present  his  conscious 
intention?  They  represent  his  unconscious  method,  a 
method  that  he  cannot,  so  to  speak,  avoid. 

Closely  connected  with  the  apparent  anomaly  just 
considered  is  the  other  of  which  mention  was  made.  One 
might  suppose  that  indirect  representation — i.  e.  expres- 
sion made  through  the  use  of  forms  not  at  all  associated 
with  those  of  one's  own  body — would  appeal  less  to  the 


ART'S  SYMPATHETIC  EFFECT*  I  35 

sympathies  of  others  than  would  direct  expression,  or 
what  has  been  termed  presentation.  But  this  supposition, 
again,  would  not  be  entirely  correct.  Owing  to  the  per- 
sonality of  effect  indicated  in  the  preceding  paragraph  as 
characterising  representative  expression,  this  latter  some- 
times makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  sympathies  than 
does  the  other  form  of  expression.  We  all,  to  an  ex- 
tent, recognise  this  fact  when  we  quote  with  approval  the 
maxim  that  actions  speak  louder  than  words.  As  ap- 
plied to  art,  when  methods  characterising  a  product  have 
been  made  characteristic  of  an  artist's  personality,  others 
must  be  influenced  by  the  product  as  they  would  be  by 
his  personality.  But  how  are  they  influenced  by  this? 
How  do  any  of  us  come  to  possess  an  ideal — or  come  to 
take  an  interest  of  any  kind  in  anything — that  is  peculiar 
to  the  personality  of  another?  There  is  but  one  answer: 
It  is  through  our  sympathies — a  word  which,  as  thus  used, 
applies  primarily  to  our  emotions,  but  includes  also  our 
thoughts,  as  influenced  by  these.  For  examples  to  illus- 
trate this  appeal  of  art  to  the  sympathies,  notice  the  way 
in  which  Tennyson  begins  his  "Gardener's  Daughter": 

This  morning  is  the  morning  of  the  day 
When  I  and  Eustace  from  the  city  went 
To  see  the  Gardener's  Daughter  ;   I  and  he 
Brothers  in  art  ;   a  friendship  so  complete 
Portioned  in  halves  between  us,  that  we  grew 
The  fable  of  the  city  where  we  dwelt. 

And  how  Browning  begins  his  "Ring  and  the  Book  "  : 

Do  you  see  this  ring? 

'T  is  Rome-work  made  to  match 
(By  Castellani's  imitative  craft     ) 
Etrurian  circlets  found,  some  happy  morn,  etc. 


I36  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

Do  you  see  this  square  old  yellow  book,  I  toss 

I'  the  air,  and  catch  again,  and  twirl  about 

By  the  crumpled  vellum  covers — pure  crude  fact. 

****** 
Examine  it  yourselves  !     I  found  this  book, 
Gave  a  lira  for  it,  eight  pence  English  just. 

These  passages  read  as  if  the  writer  subconsciously  de- 
sired to  take  us  into  his  confidence, — as  if  he  felt  us  to 
be  on  a  level  with  his  own  plane  of  thought,  and  believed 
that  we  should  understand  his  feelings  in  the  circum- 
stances, which  therefore  he  need  not  describe  to  us.  The 
explanation  of  the  method  seems  to  be  that,  as  human 
beings,  men  crave  sympathy  not  merely  with  the  volun- 
tary movements  of  their  minds,  but  often  with  the  in- 
voluntary. The  universe,  too,  which  surrounds  them  is  a 
constant  mystery  and  source  of  speculation.  They  be- 
lieve that  there  are  causes  for  its  forms  and  movements, 
spiritual  meanings  back  of  its  material  symbols.  Yet 
these  are  apprehended  only  vaguely,  looming  dimly,  as 
they  do,  from  the  regions  of  the  unseen.  Accordingly 
when  men  whose  subconscious  or  hidden  intellection 
seems  able  to  commune  with  these  regions,  embody  their 
vague  conceptions  in  forms  of  art,  appealing  in  such  ways 
as  to  reveal  to  another  what  accords  with  his  own  sub- 
conscious impressions,  it  is  inevitable  that  his  soul  should 
experience  intense  satisfaction.  He  feels  that  his  own 
impressions  have  been  confirmed  by  another's  intellect  not 
alone,  but  at  the  same  time  have  been  felt  also  by  an- 
other's heart. 

At  first  thought,  the  principle  previously  stated, 
namely,  that  the  art-product  is  successful  in  the  degree 
in  which  the  artist  represents  his  surroundings  in  such 
ways  as  to  manifest  his  own  personality,  by  which  must 


SENSIBILITY  OF  ARTIST.  1 37 

often  be  meant  his  individual  thoughts  and  emotions, 
seems  to  conflict  with  the  principle  just  unfolded,  which 
attributes  his  success  to  the  degree  in  which  the  concep- 
tions that  he  embodies  are  not  merely  his  own,  but  those 
of  others.  Second  thought,  however,  will  convince  us 
that  the  two  principles  conflict  only  seemingly.  In  prac- 
tical experience,  no  one  has  any  difficulty  in  recognising 
the  individuality  of  a  Raphael  and  a  Shakespeare  in  al- 
most ever)'  product  of  their  skill;  yet  this  does  not  pre- 
vent the  product  from  being  an  accurate  representation 
of  nature  as  viewed  by  all  men.  Painters,  sculptors, 
dramatists,  are  greatest  when  most  thoroughly  them- 
selves, yet  greatest  also  when  their  minds,  like  mirrors, 
reflect  their  surroundings  in  such  ways  as  to  conform 
most  exactly  to  the  observations  of  the  world  in  general. 
The  reason  for  this,  of  course,  is  that  no  conceptions  of 
the  meanings  of  nature  can  be  universally  accepted,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  they  have  been  derived  from  the  appear- 
ances of  nature  as  universally  perceived. 

These  statements  direct  thought  back  at  once  to  what 
was  said  in  Chapter  III.  with  reference  to  the  sources  of 
art  in  artistic  emotion,  and  hence  in  temperament.  One 
who  is  to  preserve  his  own  originality,  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  derive  from  the  forms  and  suggestions  of 
nature  the  same  conceptions  that  others  derive  from 
them ;  one  who  is  to  have  the  personal  force  to  incor- 
porate in  a  form  peculiar  to  himself  that  phase  of  truth, 
natural  or  spiritual,  which  most  readily  commends  itself 
to  all,  must  evidently  be  a  man  of  sensibility,  as  well  as 
of  rationality,  a  man  able  to  sympathise  as  well  as  to  in- 
fer. Only  such  a  man  can  be  conscious  of  almost  every 
influence  at  work  on  every  side  of  him,  and  yet  throw  all 
the  energy  of  his  subconscious  or  involuntary  mind,  as 


138  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

we  have  found  that  the  artist  must  do,  into  the  expres- 
sion of  the  fact.  Only  such  a  man  can  be  controlled  by 
his  surroundings,  and  yet  manifest  the  freedom  from  con- 
trol which  is  essential  to  that  play  of  the  mind  which  is 
characteristic  of  all  imaginative  results. 

Accordingly  we  must  conclude  that  here,  too,  as  well 
as  in  connection  with  the  conditions  mentioned  in  Chap- 
ter III.,  we  have  revealed  a  sense  in  which  every  artist, 
as  well  as  poet,  is  "born  and  not  made."  At  least  it 
must  be  true  that,  so  far  as  he  is  made,  his  training  must 
be  such  as  to  increase  his  inborn  capabilities  of  being 
aroused  by  the  appearances  about  him  to  subconscious 
and  involuntary  intellection  in  harmony  with  suggestions 
legitimate  to  these  appearances.  This  is  about  the  same 
as  to  say  that  the  great  artist  must  have  within  him  the 
possibilities  of  genius.  For  what  is  genius?  The  term  is 
derived — through  the  Latin  word  genus,  meaning  some- 
thing characterised  by  the  source  of  its  begetting  or  pro- 
duction, therefore  a  family,  race,  or,  in  this  sense,  kind 
— from  the  word  generc,  meaning  to  beget  or  to  pro- 
duce. The  word  genus  seems  to  combine,  therefore,  the 
ideas  both  of  kind  and  of  production.  It  means  the  kind 
that  is  produced.  The  termination  ius  means  belonging 
to.  Therefore,  genius  means  something  belonging  to  the 
kind  that  is  produced.  All  recognise  that  by  the  genius 
of  an  age  or  a  race,  as  when  we  say  "the  genius  of  the 
English  people,"  is  meant  the  kind  of  production  in 
thought,  word,  deed,  invention,  or  composition,  that  be- 
longs to  the  age  or  race.  And  a  genius, — what  is  he,  but 
some  one  man  who  is  the  source  of  this  kind  of  produc- 
tion?— a  man  whose  feelings,  aims,  opinions,  deeds,  or 
words  are  true  representatives  of  kinds  that  belong  to 
his  age  or  race?     Was  not  this  true  of  Homer,  Pheidias, 


GENIUS  139 

Raphael,  Milton,  Mozart,  Goethe,  and  Beethoven?  Could 
their  works  have  appeared  except  when  and  where  they 
were  produced?  And  if  we  want  to  find  out  what  was 
the  genius  of  the  age  of  each,  do  we  not  examine  what 
was  done  by  these  men  and  by  others  who  were  typical 
of  their  age?  And  is  not  this  one  reason  why  we  term 
these  men  geniuses  ?  But,  of  course,  there  is  also  another 
reason,  yet  it  is  connected  with  this.  As  indicated  in 
Chapter  IV.,  a  man  is  considered  to  be  a  genius  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  give  unimpeded  outward 
expression  to  results  coming  from  the  hidden  sphere  of 
mind.  But  this  sphere  is  occultly  connected  with  the 
whole  hidden  or  spiritual  sphere  of  nature.  The  genius, 
therefore,  is  a  man  whose  temperament  makes  him  one 
of  his  kind,  and  therefore  makes  his  products  reflect  the 
fact,  in  the  sense  of  inclining  him  to  be  influenced  as  are 
other  human  beings,  and  as  are  also  all  the  animate  or 
inanimate  developments  of  life  that  is  not  human.  The 
word  genius  is  sometimes  used  for  the  word  spirit.  Why 
is  this  except  because  genius  tends  like  spirit  to  make 
the  mind  work  in  harmony  with  what  may  be  termed  the 
Mind  in  nature,  and  hence  with  the  Spirit,  or,  if  we 
choose  to  be  polytheistic,  the  spirits  in  nature,  of  which 
Milton  sings  when  he  says? — 

And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath, 
Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good, 
Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 

//  Penseroso. 

The  genius's  interpretations  of  nature  commend  them- 
selves, therefore,  both  because  nature  makes  the  same 
appeal  to  him  as  to  others  through  its  visible  forms,  and 
also  because  it  causes  a  unity  of  action  between  the  sub- 


140  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF    /ESTHETICS. 

conscious  processes  of  his  mind  and  its  own — i.  c. ,  nature's 
own — invisible  processes.  This  unity  of  action  results 
in  expression  which  is  artistic  inasmuch  as  it  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  individual  artist,  and  yet  is  also  natural 
inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic  of  what  is  experienced  by 
men  in  general,  the  representations  of  art,  notwithstand- 
ing the  intervention  of  human  skill,  appearing  to  spring 
up  and  flow  forth  to  influence  as  naturally  as  fountains 
issue  into  streams  and  buds  burst  into  blossoms.  As  a 
result,  the  art  of  any  age  is  the  blooming  and  fruitage  of 
the  influences  of  nature  and  humanity  that  have  been  at 
work  on  every  side  throughout  long  centuries. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE     DIFFERENT    ARTS     AS    REPRESENTING    DIFFERENT 
PHASES   OF   MENTAL   CONCEPTION. 

The  Art  Used  in  Expression  is  Often  Determined  by  the  Thought  or  Emo- 
tion to  be  Expressed — Form  of  Expression  Appropriate  for  Each  Stage 
of  Any  Given  Experience — Physical  Thrill,  and  Vocal  Expression 
Leading  to  Music — Definite  Opinions,  and  Verbal  Expression  Leading 
to  Poetry — Conflicting  Opinions  Leading  to  Oratory — Contemplation 
of  Facts  as  they  Appear  Leading  to  Painting  and  Sculpture — Planning 
and  Re-arranging  Leading  to  Architecture — Relations  of  External 
Influence  and  States  of  Consciousness  as  Represented  in  Each  Art — 
Mental  Contents  and  Influence  from  Without  Compared  to  Ice  on 
Water  Flowing  into  an  Inlet — Conditions  Corresponding  to  Music, 
Poetry,  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — Testimony  of  Physics 
— Largest  Nerve-Movement  in  Music,  Less  in  Poetry,  Less  Still  in 
Colours,  Least  in  Lines — Nerves  are  Directly  Conscious  of  Vibrations 
in  Sound,  as  in  Thunder,  but  not  of  Vibrations  in  Colours — This  Fact 
Illustrated  Mythologically  and  Medicinally — Mental  Facts  Accord  with 
what  has  Preceded — The  Indefinite  is  Represented  in  Inarticulated 
Music  ;  the  Definite,  in  Articulated  Poetry — Difference  in  Representa- 
tive Effects  of  Woids  and  Tones — Is  a  Difference  between  Visualising 
Thought  and  Not  Visualising  it — Illustrations  —  Non-Imaginative 
Effect  of  Poetry  that  does  Not  Suggest  Sights — Non-Success  of  Poetry 
too  Exclusively  Musical. 

TT  has  been  shown  that  the  artist  represents  the  sights 
or  sounds  of  nature  in  order,  through  them,  to  repre- 
sent his  thoughts  or  emotions.  This  statement  at  once 
suggests  that  certain  classes  of  natural  phenomena,  and 
therefore  certain  forms  of  art,  differing,  say,  as  music 
from  painting,  must  be  better  fitted  than  are  others 
for  the   representation    of  certain  phases  of  thought   or 

141 


142  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS 

emotion.  Let  us  consider  this  suggestion.  We  shall  find  it 
introducing  us  to  a  very  interesting  and  important  field 
of  inquiry.  Our  first  conception  would  be  that  the  sight 
or  sound  perceived  in  nature  would  of  itself  indicate  the 
forms  in  which  the  thoughts  or  feelings  awakened  in  con- 
nection with  it  should  be  reproduced  in  art.  Such  is 
sometimes  the  case.  It  would  always  be  the  case,  if  art 
were  a  mere  imitation.  But,  whether  imitative  or  not, 
art  is  also  an  expression  of  thought  and  emotion,  and, 
because  it  is  so,  the  form  used  must,  at  times,  be  sub- 
ordinated to  the  requirements  of  that  which  is  to  be 
expressed.  To  illustrate  this,  suppose  a  man  to  have 
listened  to  the  story  of  a  battle.  It  might  be  presumed 
that  a  representation  of  what  he  has  heard  would  also 
assume  the  form  of  a  story,  and  therefore  be  artistically 
expressed  in  a  poem.  But  often  the  effect  of  the  story 
upon  his  imagination,  as  also  of  his  imagination  upon  it, 
is  such  that  what  is  experienced  can  be  represented  truth- 
fully only  through  a  picture.  Again,  it  happens  some- 
times that  the  forms  through  which  the  effects  have  been 
exerted,  have  lingered  so  long  in  his  mind,  and  experi- 
enced so  many  modifications  there  that,  though  critical 
analysis  may  detect,  as  in  architecture  and  music,  that 
the  effects  produced  have  been  suggested  by  forms  in 
nature,  the  artist  himself  is  unconscious  of  what  these 
forms  were.  Let  us  develop  this  idea,  and  show  its  re- 
lations to  the  form  of  representation  manifested  in  each 
of  the  arts.  As  a  result,  we  shall  find  that  all  these  are 
elaborations  of  instinctive  modes  of  expression  which,  in 
certain  circumstances,  the  mind  is  forced  to  adopt.  To 
make  this  fact  clear  is  evidently  to  bring  to  light  princi- 
ples that  lie  at  the  very  bottom  of  our  subject,  and  which, 
when  seen  in  their  true  proportions  and  relations,  will 


REPRESENTING  PHASES  OF  CONCEPTION       I43 

reveal  a  sure  foundation  on  which  to  base  all  that  can  be 
affirmed  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  fitted  for  repre- 
sentation in  each  art. 

Let  us  consider,  then,  at  first  briefly  and  superficially, 
which  is  all  that  is  necessary  at  this  stage,  the  general 
order  of  development  of  representative  modes  of  ex- 
pression in  the  case  of  an  individual  influenced  by  some 
specific  event  or  series  of  events.  Suppose  a  man  to  be 
in  a  crowd  composed  of  persons  of  conflicting  opinions 
with  reference  to  some  subject  mentioned.  Suppose 
that  a  statement  be  suddenly  made  there — as  was  done 
in  so  many  places  in  our  country  in  1861,  when  Fort 
Sumter  fell — that  some  flag  has  been  fired  upon,  or  some 
fortress  attacked.  Of  course,  the  effect  of  the  news  will 
differ  in  different  individuals;  but  let  us  observe  its  in- 
fluence on  the  average  man  strongly  interested  in  what  is 
thus  brought  to  his  notice.  Is  it  not  true  that  this  man 
will  first  experience  a  thrill  or  shock,  as  if  his  nervous 
system  had  been  physically  shaken?  At  the  same  in- 
stant, from  him,  or  at  least  from,  some  parts  of  the  crowd, 
will  arise  sounds  of  approbation  or  of  disapprobation, 
cheers  or  hisses,  followed  by  exclamations  more  or  less 
inarticulate  or  incoherent,  according  to  the  degree  in 
which  the  one  uttering  them  is  more  or  less  excited. 
This  condition  evidently  can  have  no  artistic  expression 
unless  it  be  in  music.  In  fact,  it  was  in  song  that  the 
crowds  on  Wall  Street,  New  York,  invariably  expressed 
their  first  impressions  during  the  American  civil  war^ 
when  receiving  news  from  the  army,  especially,  of  course, 
when  receiving  news  of  victory ;  but  they  kept  up  their 
courage  in  the  same  way,  also,  when  receiving  news  of 
defeat. 

But  let  us  pass  on.      Immediately  after  the  period   of 


144  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

indefinite  sounds  will  come  definite  expressions  of  opin- 
ion. Now  notice  that  the  more  excited  the  men  uttering 
these,  or  listening  to  these,  happen  to  be,  the  more  figur- 
ative, as  a  rule,  will  be  their  language.  This  or  that  must 
be  done  "like  this  or  that,"  will  be  the  formula  upon 
every  lip.  There  is  no  need  of  stopping  to  argue  that 
such  figurative  language  is  the  mode  of  representation 
naturally  developed  into  poetry. 

At  the  stage  next  after  this,  expressions  of  opinion 
uttered  freely  in  a  crowd  mixed  like  the  one  that  we  are 
considering,  will  lead  necessarily  to  altercation,  disputa- 
tion, and,  if  practical  interests  be  involved,  to  efforts  at 
persuasion.  Here  evidently,  as  it  is  well  enough  for  us 
to  observe  in  passing,  are  the  modes  of  representation 
natural  to  oratory. 

If,  after  a  time,  efforts  at  persuasion  be  recognised  to 
be  of  no  avail,  talking  will  necessarily  give  way  to  other 
methods.  The  first  of  these,  with  the  majority  of  a 
crowd  like  the  one  of  which  we  are  thinking,  will  be  to 
take  the  measure  of  those  before  them.  For  a  brief 
moment,  at  least,  they  will  merely  gaze,  intent  to  see  ex- 
actly what  it  is  that  they  have  to  face.  That  which  at 
this  time  absorbs  the  attention,  if  it  be  represented  at 
all,  evidently  requires  a  picture.  A  photographer,  did 
he  happen  to  be  a  witness  of  the  scene,  who,  so  long  as 
he  was  sufficiently  excited  to  argue,  would  not  think  of 
the  mere  appearance  of  those  surrounding  him,  might, 
at  this  stage,  in  case  his  interest  did  not  carry  him  on  to 
the  next  stage,  bring  out  his  camera.  We  have  here, 
then,  conditions  which  are  at  the  basis  of  representation 
according  to  the  modes  of  painting  and  sculpture. 

After  this  momentary  facing  of  the  situation,  however, 
any  one  not  willing  to  accept  conditions  as  they  present 


REPRESENTING  STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS      1 45 

themselves  to  view  will  evidently  be  prompted  to  take 
measures  for  changing  them.  If  surrounded  by  foes  ex- 
citing his  physical  nature,  he  will  plan  to  fight  them;  if 
by  friends,  too,  whom  he  desires  to  lead  to  battle,  he  will 
do  what  he  can  toward  marshalling  them  into  companies 
and  battalions,  thus  changing  their  confusion  to  order. 
This  mood,  in  the  effect  that  it  has  in  rearranging  the 
appearances  of  nature,  is  evidently  analogous  to  that 
which  finds  expression  in  the  modes  of  representation 
exemplified  partly  in  sculpture  and  wholly  in  architecture. 
In  the  latter  art,  the  mind  no  longer  accepts,  as  in  paint- 
ing, the  appearances  of  nature  as  they  are;  it  asserts  its 
supremacy  over  the  influences  from  without,  and,  while 
accepting  certain  details,  attempts  to  change  the  con- 
ditions under  which  they  are  presented.  The  moment, 
however,  that  this  supremacy  becomes  actual,  the  mo- 
ment that  a  man  becomes  really  free  from  the  influences 
from  without,  the  possibility  of  representing  thoughts 
and  emotions  through  representing  outward  effects  ceases. 
The  occupation  of  the  artist  is  gone  as  completely  as  that 
of  a  soldier  who  has  no  foes.  The  influence  that  first 
prompted  to  expression  in  the  forms  allied  to  music  has 
exhausted  itself.  We  have  traced  it  to  a  point  beyond 
which  it  can  be  traced  no  farther. 

Let  us  try  now  to  go  deeper  into  our  subject.  Let  us 
try  to  ascertain  more  definitely  precisely  what  conditions 
of  natural  influence  and  what  states  of  consciousness  are 
represented  in  each  art.  In  order  to  do  this,  let  us  use 
another  illustration.  At  first  it  may  seem  fanciful.  Later 
on  good  reasons  for  using  it  will  be  given.  The  illustra- 
tion is  suggested  by  words  that  we  apply  to  ordinary  ex- 
periences, whose  extraordinary  developments  alone  lead 
to  representative  art.     Words  are  like  wrinkles,  external 


146  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

marks  of  internal  moods.  Sometimes  by  tracing  back 
the  derivation  of  a  word,  one  may  find  out  the  mental 
condition  that  originated  it. 

To  apply  this  principle  in  the  present  instance.  When 
we  say  that  the  mind  is  moved  or  affected  by  an  influence 
or  motive  from  without,  so  far  as  we  convey  any  meaning 
it  is  this:  That  the  mind  has  certain  contents,  and  that 
these,  which  otherwise  would  be  stationary,  and  therefore 
unnoticed  by  consciousness,  are  set  in  motion  when  some- 
thing from  without,  by  an  influx  or  influence,  flozvs  into 
it.  In  order  to  comprehend  fully  the  comparison  thus 
indicated  by  the  words  that  we  use,  let  us  do  what  will 
enable  us  in  imagination  to  magnify  its  factors.  Let  us 
represent  the  contents  of  the  mind  by  the  floating  but, 
except  for  outside  influence,  stationary  ice  in  some  bay 
or  inlet,  and  at  the  same  time  represent  that  which  flows 
into  the  mind  by  the  waves  and  currents  entering  this 
bay  or  inlet  from  an  ocean.  Let  us  observe  what  is  the 
natural  order  of  development  of  the  relations  sustained 
between  the  waters  thus  forced  inward  and  the  ice.  Is 
it  not  something  like  this? 

At  the  point  nearest  the  ocean,  the  waves  sweeping 
over  the  ice  break  off  and  bear  up  and  down  small  por- 
tions of  it,  but  with  such  force  that  the  ice  forms  but  an 
insignificant,  perhaps  an  indistinguishable,  part  of  the 
effect  of  the  waves  as  a  whole.  This  is  the  condition 
corresponding  to  that  of  music.  A  little  farther  inward, 
the  floating  ice  covers  the  waves.  We  see  mainly  the 
ice,  but  it  is  moving,  and  its  movement  indicates  that  of 
the  water  under  it.  This  is  the  condition  found  in  poetry. 
Still  farther  inward,  the  portions  of  broken  ice,  crowded 
together  by  the  force  of  the  waves,  begin  to  offer  mani- 
fest resistance.      Up  to  this  point  one  could  hardly  dis- 


VIBRATIONS  IN  DIFFERENT  ARTS  1 47 

tinguish  from  a  distance  the  ice  from  the  waves.  Here  it 
becomes  almost  impossible  to  confound  the  two ;  for  at 
one  place  the  weight  on  the  surface  is  seen  crushing  down 
the  surf,  and  at  another  the  surf  is  seen  breaking  through 
and  above  the  surface.  This  is  the  state  of  things  in 
painting  and  sculpture.  Last  of  all,  at  places  nearest  the 
shore,  the  force  of  the  waves  seems  to  be  crushed  out 
completely,  yet  the  effects  produced  by  them  are  abund- 
antly apparent  in  the  great  moveless  heaps  of  ice  resting 
against  the  water-line.  This  represents  the  condition  in 
architecture. 

Let  us  now  notice  whether  this  order  of  development 
in  the  relations  existing  between  the  influence  from  with- 
out and  the  possessions  within  the  mind  has  any  basis  in 
facts ;  first  in  physical  facts,  afterwards  in  mental  facts. 
To  begin  with,  are  there  any  physical  facts  which  justify 
us  in  comparing  the  action  of  outer  effects  upon  the  mind 
to  that  of  waves  upon  something  stationary ;  and  if  so, 
is  there  any  reason  why  these  waves,  at  their  greatest, 
can  be  represented  in  music,  and,  at  their  least,  in  archi- 
tecture? To  both  these  questions  we  can  give  an  affirm- 
ative answer.  Physicists  tell  us  that  the  acoustic  nerve 
floats  in  a  fluid  back  of  the  drum  of  the  ear;  also  that  the 
optic  nerve  rests  against  a  corresponding  humor  back  of 
the  crystalline  lens  of  the  eye.  They  tell  us  that  when- 
ever sounds  or  sights  reach  intelligence,  they  are  conveyed 
to  it  because,  as  a  fact,  these  nerves  are  physically  shaken 
through  the  influence  of  waves  from  without  which  strike 
the  ear  drum  or  the  crystalline  lens.  So  much  for  the 
first  question;  now  for  the  second.  Physicists  tell  us 
also  that  the  waves  vibrating  to  shake  the  acoustic  nerve 
are  so  large  that,  at  the  least,  about  sixteen  of  them,  and, 
at  the  most,  about  forty  thousand,  can  move  in  a  second 


I48  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

of  time;  but  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  waves  shaking 
the  retina  are  so  minute  that,  at  the  least,  about  four 
hundred  and  eighty-three  trillions,  and,  at  the  most, 
seven  hundred  and  twenty-seven  trillions,  can  move  in  a 
second.  These  assertions  indicate  that  the  sensation  of 
being  most  shaken,  shaken  by  the  largest  waves,  or  when 
the  influence  has  most  force,  can  be  represented  or  com- 
municated better — and  any  nervous  mother  with  half  a 
dozen  small  boys  will  confirm  the  statement  from  her 
own  experience — through  sound  than  through  sight. 

Whether  we  consider  quantity  or  quality,  there  is  more 
of  sound  represented  in  music  than  in  poetry.  By  con- 
sequence, of  the  two  arts,  the  former  represents  better 
the  first  effect  of  a  motive  per  se  ;  i.  e.,  the  most  power- 
ful, the  least  exhausted  effect  of  any  influence  from 
without,  considered  merely  as  an  influence.  Oratory 
appeals  to  sight  as  well  as  to  hearing.  For  this  reason  it 
represents  a  later  effect  than  poetry.  Of  those  arts  which, 
because  they  appeal  to  sight  alone,  represent  effects  in 
sight  still  later  than  oratory,  painting  evidently  comes 
first.  It  uses  more  brilliancy  and  variety  of  colour, 
necessitating  larger  vibrations — the  largest  of  all,  for  in- 
stance, producing  extreme  red — and  also  greater  depend- 
ence upon  everything  conditioned  directly  by  influence 
of  this  kind  than  is  the  case  with  either  sculpture  or 
architecture. 

There  are  other  physical  facts  which  confirm  what  has 
been  said.  Consider  the  degrees  of  force  accompanying 
the  influences  which  affect  respectively  the  ear  and  the 
eye.  Thunder,  which  one  hears,  can  make  the  founda- 
tions of  one's  house  shake  literally.  Nothing  similar  can 
be  affirmed  of  effects  that  one  can  only  see.  The  Greeks, 
whose  myths  with  reference  to   other  matters  were    so 


VIBRATIONS  IN  DIFFERENT  ARTS  1 49 

significant,  represented  their  conceptions  of  the  influence 
of  music  in  the  story  of  Orpheus  and  Amphion,  who,  with 
their  harps,  drew  around  them  not  only  wild  beasts,  but 
trees  and  stones,  causing  all  to  dance  to  their  melodies, 
and  finally  bringing  the  stones  together  to  form  the  walls 
of  a  mighty  city.  Nor  are  these  conceptions  of  the  physi- 
cal influence  of  sound  expressed  in  myths  alone.  Both 
ancients  and  moderns  have  used  music  medicinally. 
Plato,  Plutarch,  and  Cicero  all  speak  of  its  supposed  re- 
medial powers.  In  modern  times,  eminent  physicians 
in  England,  France,  and  Germany  have  insisted  upon  its 
efficacy  in  cases  not  only  of  insanity,  but  of  hemorrhage, 
fever,  and  of  almost  all  kinds  of  spasmodic  troubles.  In 
our  own  country  it  is  used  more  or  less  in  insane  asylums. 
However,  the  question  of  the  medicinal  properties  of 
sound  or  of  music  is  not  the  one  with  which  we  are  here 
concerned.  Some  may  doubt  them  ;  but  even  if  so,  none 
can  doubt  that  whatever  in  such  circumstances  may  be 
affirmed  of  a  man's  physical  nature,  it  is  a  fact  that  at 
least  his  mental  nature  is  affected.  Effects  in  the  mind, 
in  the  degree  in  which  they  appeal  to  consciousness  in 
the  form  of  mere  movement,  are  termed  sensations  or 
emotions.  The  first  experience  of  a  man,  when  strongly 
influenced  from  without,  makes  him  mainly,  though  not 
wholly,  unless  he  have  wholly  lost  his  mind,  conscious  of 
these  emotions.  His  first  and  always  an  instinctive  ex- 
pression simultaneous  with  such  an  experience  is  an  in- 
articulate cry.  If  we  startle  a  person — come  upon  him 
suddenly,  for  instance,  in  the  dark— in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  we  hear  this  cry,  its  intensity  being  in  direct  propor- 
tion to  his  lack  of  control  over  those  powers  of  his  mind 
which  give  rise  to  definiteness  in  thought.  The  child  is 
more  likely  to  scream  than  the  man. 


150  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF   ESTHETICS 

These  facts  suggest,  at  once,  their  reason.  One  utters 
inarticulate  sounds,  because  he  has  not  had  time  enough, 
either  absolutely,  or  relatively  to  the  intensity  of  his 
feelings,  to  collect  and  formulate  them  into  words;  often, 
indeed,  not  even  into  thoughts  that  are  definite  to  him- 
self. If  they  were  so,  he  would  use  the  only  form  capable 
of  representing  definite  thought,  which  is  language;  in 
other  words,  he  would  express  himself  in  the  form  which, 
when  artistically  developed,  leads  to  poetry.  In  this 
form,  when  the  sound-waves  break  against  the  nerves  of 
the  outward  senses,  the  mind  that  feels  their  influence  is 
in  a  condition  in  which  it  is  conscious  of  being  filled,  not 
with  indefinite  and  undefined  sensations,  as  in  music,  but 
with  definite  sentiments,  many  of  which  seem  virtually 
identical  with  words  which,  by  way  of  comparison  or 
association,  clearly  define  them.  Suppose  that  a  man  be 
prompted  to  enlist.  If  his  mind  be  stored  with  facts  of 
history,  he  may  think  about  Wellington  at  Waterloo,  or 
Grant  at  Vicksburg.  If  he  be  accustomed  to'views  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  he  may  think  about  thunder  and  lightning 
felling  the  forests,  or  hail  and  flood  sweeping  through 
mountain  passes.  He  cries  out  concerning  a  fortress  and 
its  defenders,  "We  must  storm  it;  we  must  give  them 
thunder  and  lightning!"  He  does  this  because  storms, 
thunder,  and  lightning  are  definite  conceptions  which  are 
already  in  his  mind.  They  make  up  the  substance  of 
which  he  is  conscious,  when  he  uses  his  mind,  or  thinks. 
If  ice  fill  a  bay  completely,  an  observer  can  know  that 
the  water  under  the  ice  is  moving,  only  as  he  sees  the  ice 
moving.  This  is  the  relationship  between  that  with 
which  the  mind  is  filled  and  the  influence  from  without 
which  we  find  in  poetry. 

This   relationship,    and  the  difference  between  it  and 


CONCEP  TIONS  IN  POE  TRY  1 5  I 

that  which  exists  in  music,  is  clearly  suggested  by  the 
fact  that  the  general  result  is  represented  in  poetry 
through  the  use  of  articulated  words,  and  in  music 
through  the  use  of  inarticulated  tones.  Words  repre- 
sent conceptions  which  are  sufficiently  intelligible  to 
be  clearly  defined.  Tones  represent  conceptional  tend- 
encies, which  are  not  always  sufficiently  intelligible  to 
be  clearly  defined.  The  consequent  difference  between 
the  effects  of  the  two  arts  is  this:  Both  influence  the 
imagination,  and,  while  doing  so,  conjure  pictures  which 
pass  in  review  before  it;  but  while  poetry  indicates  defi- 
nitely what  these  pictures  shall  be,  music  leaves  the  mind 
of  the  listener  free  to  determine  this,  the  same  chords 
inclining  one  man,  perhaps,  to  think  of  his  business,  and 
another  of  his  recreation ;  one  of  a  storm  at  sea,  and  an- 
other of  a  battle-field. 

Now  notice  a  further  fact  with  reference  to  this  differ- 
ence,— a  fact  which  will  serve  to  emphasise,  too,  the 
importance  of  the  general  principle  brought  out  in  this 
chapter,  namely,  the  necessity  of  clearly  distinguishing 
the  phase  of  representation  appropriate  for  one  art  from 
that  appropriate  for  another.  The  fact  is  this, —  that 
words  make  thought  definite  because  they  appeal  to  the 
imagination  as  is  done  through  the  sense  not  only  of 
hearing  but  also  of  sight ;  and  this,  not  only  because 
they  can  be  printed  as  well  as  spoken,  but  because,  as  a 
rule,  they  refer  to  objects,  as  in  the  cases  of  hut,  farm, 
road,  and  horse  ;  or  to  actions,  as  in  the  cases  of  come,  go, 
stop,  and  hurry  ;  or  to  other  conditions,  as  in  the  cases  of 
near,  far,  with,  and  by,  that  can  be  seen,  and  that  are 
seen  by  imagination  whenever  the  words  are  used.  Mu- 
sical tones,  on  the  contrary,  appeal  to  imagination  al- 
most exclusively  as  is  done  through  the  sense  of  hearing 


152  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS 

irrespective  of  sight.  This  is  a  difference  which  is  radical, 
and  extremely  important.  Poetry  of  the  highest  order, 
as  we  read  it,  calls  attention  to  visible  objects.  Through 
doing  so  the  lines  transport  us  into  a  realm  of  imagina- 
tion, and  this  not  of  our  own  making,  as  in  music,  but  of 
the  poet's  making.  So  far  as  he  fails  to  lift  us  into  this 
realm,  and  to  keep  us  in  it,  his  poetry  fails  of  one  of  its 
most  important  possibilities.  Notice  in  the  following 
how  clean-cut  and  concrete  every  figure  is,  how  it  stands 
out  in  relief,  rising  visually  before  the  mind,  the  moment 
that  the  words  are  heard : 


Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory, 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore  where  he  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye. 

j  Henry  VI.,  Hi.,  2  :   Shakespeare. 

He  has  strangled 

His  language  in  his  tears. 

Henry  VIII. ,  v.,  1  : Idem. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat, 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out 
As  if  they  feared  the  light. 
A  Ballad  upon  a   Wedding  :  Sir  John  Suckling. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  away. 

The  Day  is  Done  :  Longfellow. 

This  last  stanza  is  characteristic  of  Longfellow.  Does 
the  visual  effect  of  the  style  give  us  one  reason  for  his 
wide  popularity?  Observe  now  that  this  clean-cut,  con- 
crete visualisation    can   be  conjured  in    the  imagination 


VIS  UA  LISA  TION  IN  P  OE  TR  V  1 5  3 

even  by  a  description  of   something  which,  in  itself,  is 
not  clean-cut  or  concrete: 

Then  saw  they  how  there  hove  a  dusky  barge, 
Dark  as  a  funeral  scarf  from  stem  to  stern, 
Beneath  them  ;  and  descending,  they  were  ware 
That  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately  forms, 
Black-stoled,  black-hooded,  like  a  dream, — by  these 
Three  Queens  with  crowns  of  gold. 

Mort  d' Arthur  :    Tennyson. 

With  these  quotations  in  mind,  let  us  examine  the 
following.  As  we  read  them,  are  we  not  far  more  con- 
scious of  certain  audible  sensations  of  great  delicacy  and 
sweetness  than  of  any  definite  and  distinct  pictures  rising, 
one  after  the  other,  into  consciousness;  and,  just  in 
the  degree  in  which  this  is  true,  is  it  not  a  fact  that  we 
fail  to  be  lifted  out  of  our  actual  visible  surroundings  into 
that  realm  of  the  imagination,  no  less  visible,  into  which 
it  seems  the  peculiar  function  of  poetry  of  the  highest 
order  to  transport  one? 


Round  thee  blow,  self-pleached  deep, 
Brambl^  roses,  faint  and  pale, 
And  long  purples  of  the  dale. 

Let  them  rave. 
These  in  every  shower  creep 
Through  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

Let  them  rave. 

A  Dirge  ;   Tennyson. 

Praise  him,  O  storm  and  summer-shore  and  wave, 

O  skies  and  every  grave  ; 
O  weeping  hopes,  O  memories  beyond  tears, 

O  many  and  murmuring  years, 
O  sounds  far  off  in  time  and  visions  far 

O  sorrow  with  thy  star  ; 


154  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS 

And  joy  with  all  thy  beacons  ;   ye  that  mourn, 

And  ye  whose  light  is  borne  ; 
O  fallen  faces,  and  O  souls  arisen, 

Praise  him  from  tomb  and  prison! 

A  Song  of  Italy  ;  Swinburne. 

In  much  modern  poetry,  these  musical  effects  are 
either,  as  in  these  passages,  entirely  substituted  for  visual 
effects,  or  are  allowed  to  overbalance  the  visual  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  obscure  them.  This  is  one  reason  why 
poetry  is  so  little  read,  and  has  so  little  influence,  in  our 
own  times.  Notice  the  kind  of  representation  that,  in 
Byron's  day,  helped  to  make  almost  everybody  read 
what  he  wrote: 

'T  is  midnight.     On  the  mountains  brown 
The  cold  round  moon  shines  deeply  down  ; 
Blue  roll  the  waters,  blue  the  sky 
Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high, 
Bespangled  with  those  isles  of  light, 
So  wildly,  spiritually  bright  : 
Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 
And  turned  to  earth  without  repining? 

The  Siege  of  Corinth  :  Byron. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE     DIFFERENT     ARTS    AS     REPRESENTING    DIFFERENT 

phases  of  mental  conception — Continued. 

Persuasion  and  Oratory — The  Conditions  of  Mind  Represented  in  the  Arts 
of  Sight — In  Landscape  Gardening — In  Painting — The  Different  Con- 
ditions Expressed  in  Poetry  and  in  Painting — Bearings  of  this  Fact 
upon  Poetry — Theory  of  Lessing — Objection  to  the  Theory — Import- 
ance of  the  Theory  Illustrated  in  Poetry — Other  Examples — Applied  to 
Methods  of  Poetic  Description — By  Talfourd — Crabbe — Wordsworth 
— Tennyson — Some  Subjects  Unfit  for  Paintings — Others — Allegorical 
Paintings — Same  Subjects  Possible  to  Poetry  and  Painting,  if  Treated 
Differently — Painting  can  Suggest  More  Movement  than  Sculpture — 
And,  on  Account  of  Colour,  More  Variety  in  the  Number  and  Sizes  of 
Objects  ;  also  More  Minuteness  and  Triviality — Architecture  as  Origin- 
ated— As  Influenced  by  Methods  of  Painting  and  of  Sculpture — De- 
terioration on  Account  of  This — Recapitulation  with  Reference  to 
Forms  of  Representation  in  Arts  of  Sight — Correspondences  between 
Architecture  and  Music — Conclusion. 

ET  us  go  back  now  to  the  illustration  of  the  man  in 
the  crowd.  After  words  have  given  expression  to 
his  sentiments,  and  other  men  have  begun  to  express 
theirs,  he  is  apt  to  discover  that  in  some  regards  they 
differ  from  him.  At  first,  however,  this  feeling  is  over- 
balanced by  another.  The  man  imagines  that  if  he  can 
only  represent  clearly  and  forcibly  his  own  notions,  he 
will  be  able  to  persuade  others  to  agree  with  him.  This 
will  be  recognised  to  be  the  motive  prompting  to  oratory, 
— an  art  which  can  appropriately  be  mentioned  here, 
because  it  forms  a  connecting  link  between  poetry  and 

i55 


I56  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

painting.  Oratory  itself,  however,  is  not  strictly  an 
aesthetic  art,  because  mainly  directed  toward  a  useful  and 
practical  end.  Indeed,  it  usually  fails  in  case  its  repre- 
sentative features  be  too  strongly  emphasised,  i.  c,  in 
case  its  delivery  be  too  elocutionary,  its  rhetoric  too 
florid,  or  its  action  too  theatric. 

As  indicated  in  the  illustration  used  on  page  144,  after 
a  man  has  found  that  persuasion  is  of  little  or  no  avail, 
he  is  apt  to  stand,  for  a  moment,  gazing  at  those  whom 
he  cannot  influence  in  this  way.  This  condition  of  mind, 
if  it  be  represented  at  all,  necessitates  some  sort  of  a 
picture.  Let  us  look  at  the  facts  here  carefully.  To 
check  oneself  implies  that  one  is  no  longer  moved  as 
strongly  as  he  usually  is  in  the  moods  represented  inmusic, 
poetry,  and  oratory.  It  implies  that  the  ideas  are  related 
to  the  influence  from  without  in  the  same  way  as  the  ice 
to  the  water,  when,  in  the  illustration  given,  the  ice  be- 
gins to  manifest  resistance.  The  ideas,  no  longer  now  in 
the  condition  in  which  one  uses  poetic  language, — no 
longer  swept  along  by  the  current  of  influence  in  such  a 
way  that  the  movement  of  the  current  may  be  perceived 
in  their  movements, — are  recognised  in  consciousness  as 
factors  which  resist  the  influence  from  without ;  therefore 
as  factors  which,  while  they  compare  with  it,  may  be 
contrasted  with  it. 

The  art  representing  the  earliest  phase  assumed  by  the 
consciousness  of  an  external  world  as  contrasted  with 
one's  own  ideas  is  the  partly  ideal  art  of  landscape  gar- 
dening. In  a  logical  order  of  sequence  this  art  stands 
next  to  poetry  and  oratory.  These  are  developed  from 
a  man's  power  over  himself,  over  his  own  voice  and 
limbs.  The  next  mode  of  exerting  power,  logically  con- 
sidered, is  to  touch  something  outside  of  self,  and,   in 


PAINTING.  157 

doing  this,  to  begin  by  handling  nature  in  a  crude  form, 
as  it  is  used  in  landscape  gardening.  Only  later  can  one 
come  to  the  canvas,  pigments,  marbles,  and  woods  used 
in  the  plastic  arts.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out 
that,  with  all  the  fidelity  to  nature  that  must  be  mani- 
fested in  successful  gardening,  every  feature  revealing 
that  it  is  an  art,  is  derived  from  a  contrast,  in  spite  of 
very  much  also  that  manifests  comparison,  between  a 
field  as  presented  in  nature  and  a  park  as  planned,  ar- 
ranged, and  cultivated. 

An  analogous  fact  becomes  more  apparent  as  we  pass 
on  to  painting.  "A  higher  and  a  lower  style,"  says  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  thirteenth  "Discourse  on  Paint- 
ing," "take  their  rank  and  degree  in  proportion  as  the 
artist  departs  more  or  less  from  common  nature."  Evi- 
dently, according  to  this  view,  the  difference  in  painting 
between  high  and  ordinary  art  is  revealed  in  the  contrast 
between  the  picture  and  nature.  In  passing  through  the 
mediumship  of  the  man,  that  which  came  from  nature 
has  been  changed.  Each  change  has  been  wrought  by 
an  idea,  and  all  the  changes  together  indicate  a  contrast 
between  what  nature  really  is  and  the  artist's  idea  of 
what  it  might  be.  Here,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
mental  tendency  that  is  represented  in  painting,  we  have 
a  beginning  of  that  principle  of  contrast  that  enters  so 
largely  into  the  painter's  success  when  using,  in  a  merely 
technical  way,  the  elements  of  light  and  shade  and  colour. 
(See  Chapter  XVIII.)  While  poetry,  as  in  the  pictur- 
esque language  described  on  pages  115  to  117,  uses  com- 
parison with  only  occasional  contrast,  painting  uses  both 
in  very  nearly  like  proportions. 

This  more  extensive  use  in  painting  of  contrast  might 
be  considered  of  merely  theoretic  importance,  were  it  not 


158  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

for  that  which  necessarily  accompanies  it.  This  is  the 
fact  that  the  natural  appearances  treated  in  painting  are, 
as  a  rule,  perceived  outside  the  mind,  whereas  those  re- 
ferred to  in  poetry  have  been  already  stored  inside  the 
mind.  Painters  and  sculptors  reproduce  scenes  or  figures 
perceived  in  the  external  world,  and  they  do  this 
through  using  an  external  medium  like  canvas  or  mar- 
ble. Poets  recall  what  they  have  heard  of  events  or  of 
men,  like  a  battle  or  a  Wellington,  and  reproduce  this 
through  using  words.  Words  contain  not  what  is  ex- 
ternal to  the  mind,  but  what  is  in  it.  The  bearing  of 
these  facts  is  extremely  important  when  considered  in 
relation  to  the  conceptions  appropriate  for  treatment  in 
the  different  arts. 

As  applied  to  poetry,  the  facts  seem  to  rule  out  of  its 
domain  any  descriptive  details  other  than  those  of  such 
prominence  that  a  man  observing  them  might  reasonably 
be  supposed  to  have  been  able  to  retain  them  in  memory, 
— other  than  details — to  state  it  differently, — which  have 
been  stored  in  the  mind,  and  are  brought  to  consciousness 
because,  apparently,  the  most  important  factors  entering 
into  the  general  mental  effect.  In  accordance  with  this 
principle,  it  was  shown  in  Chapter  XXII.  of  the  author's 
"Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art  "  that  the  descriptions 
of  Homer  are  all  mental,  fragmentary,  specific,  and  typi- 
cal, e.  g,  : 

And  first,  /Eneas,  with  defiant  mien 

And  nodding  casque,  stood  forth.      He  held  his  shield 

Before  him,  which  he  wielded  right  and  left, 

And  shook  his  brazen  spear. 

Iliad,  20  :  Bryant's  Trans. 
He  dwelt 
Within  a  mansion  filled  with  wealth  ;   broad  fields 


POETRY   AND  PAINTING.  I  59 

Fertile  in  corn  were  his,  and  many  rows 
Of  trees  and  vines  around  him. 

Iliad,  14. :  Idem. 
He  dropped  the  reins, 
Gleaming  with  ivory  as  they  trailed  in  dust. 
Antilochus  leaped  forward,  smiting  him 
Upon  the  temples  with  his  sword.      He  fell 
Gasping  amidst  the  sand,  his  head  immersed 
Cp  to  his  shoulders — for  the  sand  was  deep. 

Iliad,  j  :  Idem. 
The  monarch  stripped  the  slain,  and,  leaving  them 
With  their  white  bosoms  bare,  went  on  to  slay. 

Iliad,  it  :  Idem. 

Connected  with  this  fundamental  difference  between 
that  which  may  appropriately  be  represented  in  poetry 
and  in  painting,  is  another.  "Objects  which  succeed  one 
another,  or  whose  parts  succeed  one  another  in  time," 
says  Lessing,  in  Sec.  16  of  "The  Laocoon,"  translated 
by  Frothingham,  "are  actions.  Consequently  actions  are 
the  peculiar  subjects  of  poetry.  .  .  .  Objects  which 
exist  side  by  side,  or  whose  parts  so  exist,  are  called 
bodies.  Consequently,  bodies  with  their  visible  proper- 
ties are  the  peculiar  subjects  of  painting.  .  .  ."  And 
again  (Sec.  18),  "To  try  to  present  a  complete  picture  to 
the  reader  by  enumerating  in  succession  several  parts  or 
things,  which  in  nature  the  eye  necessarily  takes  in  at  a 
glance,  is  an  encroachment  of  the  poet  on  the  domain  of 
the  painter.  .  .  .  To  bring  together  into  one  and 
the  same  picture  two  points  of  time  necessarily  remote, 
as  Mazzuoli  does  in  the 'Rape  of  the  Sabine  Women,' 
and  the  reconciliation  effected  by  them  between  their 
husbands  and  relations,  is  an  encroachment  of  the  painter 
on  the  domain  of  the  poet." 

An  objection  to  the  theory  of  Lessing,  thus  stated,  is 
that  a  literal  application  of  it  seems  to  necessitate  the 


l6o  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

artist's  invariably  representing  in  a  story  anything  that 
is  heard  in  time,  as  well  as  invariably  representing  in  a 
picture  anything  that  is  seen  in  space,  or  that  is  received 
by  him  in  the  form  of  a  picture.  But,  as  was  shown  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  exactly  the  same  experience,  at 
different  stages  of  the  development  of  its  influence  upon 
the  mind,  can  be  appropriately  represented  through  the 
medium  of  a  different  art.  Therefore,  when  one  comes 
to  apply  the  principle  brought  out  by  Lessing,  he  must 
be  careful  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  question  to  be  asked 
is  not  whether  the  conception  to  be  expressed  was  de- 
rived from  a  form  appearing  in  time  or  in  space,  but 
whether,  as  it  has  affected  the  mind,  it  can  be  represented 
to  others  in  time  or  in  space. 

With  this  interpretation  of  the  theory,  no  reasonable 
objection  can  be  urged  against  it.  On  the  contrary,  very 
slight  examination,  either  of  poetry  or  of  painting,  will 
reveal  the  great  importance  of  regarding  the  principle  to 
which  it  gives  expression.  For  instance,  in  speaking  of 
the  plan  of  his  "Excursion,"  Wordsworth,  in  several 
places,  tells  us  that  his  conception  of  it  was  that  of  a 
cathedral  to  which  his  minor  poems  should  stand  related 
like  chapels  opening  from  the  aisles.  In  other  words,  he 
acknowledges  that  a  method  of  thought  or  expression  not 
natural  to  poetry,  but  to  another  art,  an  art,  too,  neces- 
sitating a  body  filling  space,  was  present  to  his  mind 
when  considering  the  general  form  of  his  poem.  So  far  as 
this  method  had  influence,  his  motive,  therefore,  was 
that  not  of  the  poet  but  of  the  architect.  A  poem 
modelled  after  a  cathedral!  One  might  as  well  talk  of 
a  picture  modelled  after  a  symphony,  or  a  statue  after  a 
running  stream. 

Analogous  criticisms  might  be  made  with  reference  to 


POETRY    PORTRAYING  ACTION.  l6l 

many  other  of  our  English  poems.  Covvper's  "Task," 
and  Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  are  modelled  apparently 
upon  the  methods  of  a  man  who  is  preparing  a  set  of 
village  photographs  or  a  county  guide-book.  As  a  re- 
sult, notwithstanding  many  admirable  passages,  who  does 
not  feel  that,  considered  as  wholes,  the  poems  are  in- 
artistic? Or,  as  contrasted  with  them,  who  does  not  feel 
that  works  like  Scott's  "Marmion,"  or  Byron's  "Cor- 
sair," howevei  deficient  in  passages,  nevertheless,  con- 
sidered as  wholes,  are  artistic?  But  what  is  the  essential 
difference  between  the  poetry  represented  by  these  two 
classes  of  products?  Not  merely  that  the  former  are 
didactic  and  naturalistic,  and  the  latter  narrative.  The 
chief  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  while,  as  a  rule,  poets 
like  Scott  and  Byron  portray  actions  in  such  ways  that 
the  successive  events  described  keep  pace  with  the  move- 
ments of  thought,  even  if  they  do  not  lead  it  onward,  the 
other  poets  portray  actions,  if  at  all,  as  if  stopping 
often,  with  pencil  in  hand,  to  sketch  in  detail,  or  explain 
and  elaborate  the  scenes  observed. 

To  recognise  this  effect  of  lack  of  movement,  notice 
the  passage  from  the  "Excursion  "  in  which  a  cathedral 
is  described : 


Not  raised  in  nice  proportions  was  the  Pile, 

But  large  and  massy,  for  duration  built  ; 

With  pillars  crowded  and  the  roof  upheld 

By  naked  rafters  intricately  crossed 

Like  leafless  underboughs  in  some  thick  wood 

All  withered  by  the  depth  of  shade  above. 

Admonitory  texts  inscribed  the  walls, 

Each  in  its  ornamental  scroll  inclosed  ; 

Each  also  crowned  with  winged  heads, — a  pair 

Of  rudely  painted  cherubim.     The  floor 

Of  nave  and  aisle,  in  unpretending  guise, 


1 62  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

Was  occupied  by  oaken  benches  ranged 
In  seemly  rows  ;  the  chancel  only  showed 
Some  vain  distinctions,  marks  of  earthly  state. 

Excursion,  v.  :    Wordsworth. 

Here  is  another  passage  written  with  the  motive  of  the 
painter.  The  readers  of  it  instinctively  think  of  a  plot  of 
ground,  i.  c,  of  a  mindless  thing  standing  between  their 
thought  and  the  thought  of  the  writer.  They  are  not 
brought  into  immediate  communication  with  the  living 
mind  from  which  the  words  come,  and  therefore  their 
minds  are  not  addressed  directly  by  this  mind,  as,  through 
the  use  of  words,  they  should  be  addressed : 

From  the  gate 
Of  this  home-featured  inn,  which  nestling  cleaves 
To  its  own  shelf  among  the  downs,  begirt 
With  trees  which  lift  no  branches  to  defy 
The  fury  of  the  storm 

the  heart-soothed  guest 
Views  a  furze-dotted  common,  on  each  side 
Wreathed  into  waving  eminences,  clothed 
Above  the  furze  with  scanty  green,  in  front 
Indented  sharply  to  admit  the  sea 
Spread  thence  in  softest  hue — to  which  a  gorge 
Sinking  within  the  valley's  deepening  green 
Invites  by  grassy  path. 

Alum  Bay  :    Thomas  Noon  Talfourd. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  certain  interest,  though  some- 
times not  above  that  which  is  merely  topographic  or 
botanic,  awakened  by  minute  descriptions  of  fields  and 
flowers,  such  as  a  painter  on  the  spot  would  be  able  to 
give  while  carefully  scrutinising  these  in  order  to  depict 
them.  But  in  descriptions  of  this  kind  the  external 
world  is  not  subordinated  to  the  thought  in  the  same 
way    in    which   a   scene  of   nature   is,   when   recalled   by 


POETRY    PORTRAYING   ACTION.  1 63 

memory.  As  contrasted  with  the  last  quotation,  the 
reader  will  recognise  in  the  following  a  far  more  im- 
mediate communication  of  thought  and  feeling  between 
mind  and  mind,  while,  at  the  same  time,  nothing  is  de- 
scribed which  in  a  picture  could  be  any  more  than  sug- 
gestively represented : 

Home  went  the  lovers  through  that  busy  place 

By  Lodrion  Hall,  the  country's  pride  and  grace  ; 

By  the  rich  meadows  where  the  oxen  fed, 

Through  the  green  vale  that  formed  the  river's  bed, 

And  by  unnumbered  cottages  and  farms 

That  have  for  musing  minds  unnumbered  charms  : 

And  how  affected  by  the  view  of  these 

Was  now  Orlando  ? — did  they  pain  or  please  ? 

Nor  pain  nor  pleasure  could  they  yield — and  why  ? 

The  mind  was  filled,  was  happy,  and  the  eye 

Roved  over  fleeting  views  that  but  appeared  to  die. 

The  Lover  s  Journey  :  Geo.  Crabbe. 

This  method  of  description,  however,  manifests  nega- 
tive rather  than  positive  excellence.  There  are  other 
passages  in  which  the  external  scene  is  not,  as  in  this  last 
case,  subordinated  in  the  sense  of  having  certain  of  its 
details  let  alone,  but  in  the  sense  of  having  everything 
important  to  the  effect  positively  introduced.  As  we 
read  the  following,  is  it  not  true  that  we  are  constantly 
being  made  conscious  of  thinking  more  of  what  the  poet 
thought  than  of  what  he  saw;  and  this  because  what  he 
saw  has  been  used,  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  to  give  form 
to  what  he  thought?  As  a  result,  is  it  not  true  that  we 
find  certain  images  rising  up  in  imagination  and  sugges- 
tively taking  form,  just  as  previously  they  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  taken  form  in  the  mind  of  the  author, 
giving;  us  thus  an  illustration  of  what  an  artist's  creative 


164  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

imagination    can  do  in  the  way  of  stimulating  creative 
imagination  on  the  part  of  others? 

At  my  feet 
Rested  a  silent  sea  of  hoary  mist. 
A  hundred  hills  their  dusky  backs  upheaved 
All  over  that  still  ocean  ;   and  beyond, 
Far,  far  beyond,  the  solid  vapours  stretched 
In  headlands,  tongues,  and  promontory  shapes, 
Into  the  main  Atlantic  that  appeared 
To  dwindle  and  give  up  his  majesty, 
Usurped  upon  far  as  the  sight  could  reach. 

Prelude^  xiv:  Wordsworth, 

Notice  again,  in  the  following,  how  little  there  is  which 
a  painter  could  reproduce  with  accuracy  ;  and  this  because 
the  motive  to  expression,  although  influenced  by  certain 
scenes  to  which  allusion  is  made,  is  not  that  of  the  painter 
but  that  of  the  poet.  The  movement  of  thought  is 
the  main  object  of  representation.  We  hear  of  a  court 
and  a  sunset;  but  we  scarcely  do  so  before  other  things 
are  so  crowded  upon  attention  as  to  obviate  at  once  any 
suggestion  of  a  desire  to  delineate  outlines  as  they  appear 
in  space. 

There  rose 
A  hubbub  in  the  court  of  half  the  maids 
Gathered  together  ;   from  the  illumined  hall, 
Long  lanes  of  splendour  slanted  o'er  the  press 
Of  snowy  shoulders,  thick  as  herded  ewes, 
And  rainbow  robes  and  gems  and  gem-like  eyes, 
And  gold  and  golden  heads  ;  they  to  and  fro 
Fluctuated,  as  flowers  in  storm,  some  red,  some  pale, 
All  open-mouthed,  all  gazing  to  the  light. 
Some  crying  there  was  an  army  in  the  land, 
And  some,  that  men  were  in  the  very  walls, 
And  some,  they  cared  not,  till  a  clamour  grew 


SUBJECTS  OF  PAINTING.  165 

As  of  a  new-world  Babel,  woman-built, 

And  worse-confounded  ;  high  above  them  stood 

The  placid  marble  Muses  looking  peace. 

The  Princess  :    Tennyson. 

As  contrasted  with  poetry,  painting  and  sculpture  re- 
present not  that  which  is  inside  the  mind,  and  may  be 
recalled  in  the  order  of  time,  but  that  which  is  outside 
the  mind,  and  may  be  perceived  in  the  arrangements 
of  space.  For  this  reason,  to  quote  from  the  second 
of  Opie's  "Lectures  on  Design,"  "Many  interesting  pas- 
sages in  history  and  poetry  are  incapable  of  affording 
more  than  a  bald  and  insipid  representation  on  canvas. 
Of  this  description  is  the  incident  in  the 'Iliad,'  where 
one  of  Priam's  younger  sons,  fallen  before  the  superior 
force  of  Achilles,  solicits  his  life  on  account  of  his  youth. 
'Wretch  ! '  exclaims  the  furious  hero,  'dost  thou  complain 
of  dying,  when  thou  knowest  that  Achilles  must  shortly 
die?'  "  Such  incidents  as  these,  if  made  subjects  of  pic- 
tures, cannot  be  understood  without  an  added  verbal  or 
written  description,  which  is  the  same  as  to  say  that,  in 
any  merely  pictorial  product,  they  cannot  be  represented 
at  all.  This  fact  is  at  the  basis  of  the  adverse  criticism 
often  passed  upon  the  endeavour,  in  a  painting,  to  "tell 
a  story."  It  is  said  that  such  paintings  are  "literary." 
The  criticism  is  clearly  justified  so  far  only  as  a  painting 
does  not  tell  its  ozvn  story,  but  requires,  as  it  were, 
"literary"  aid  in  order  to  make  plain  its  meaning.  No 
such  aid  is  required  in  the  cases  of  paintings  like  those 
described  on  pages  119  to  123. 

Such  aid  is  always  required,  however,  when  events 
taking  place  at  different  times  cannot  be  adequately  sug- 
gested by  what  is  taking  place  at  one  time;  but  must  all 
of  them  be  depicted,  or  else  not  indicated.     Few  of  us 


166/  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

have  not  seen  old  engravings  in  which  something  like  this 
has  been  attempted,  engravings  intended  to  show  at  a 
single  glance — although  it  requires  several  glances  to  dis- 
cover what  the  intention  really  is — the  whole  story  of 
a  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  or  of  a  "  Drunkard's  Progress." 
However  interesting,  curious,  or  instructive  these  en- 
gravings may  be,  we  all  feel  that  they  sustain  much  the 
same  relation  to  painting  of  a  high  order  as  minutely 
descriptive  verses  do  to  poetry  of  a  high  order.  Those 
who  have  had  their  attention  called  to  the  original  or 
photographs  of  the  "Adoration  of  the  Magi,"  by  Ber- 
nardino Luini,  will  recall  that  besides  the  group  of  the 
Magi  in  the  foreground,  there  is  furnished  in  the  back- 
ground, a  picture  of  the  journey  of  these  same  Magi  to 
the  stable.  We  see  them,  with  a  line  of  heavily  laden 
horses  and  camels,  descending  a  zigzag  pathway  which 
reminds  one  of  the  representation  of  a  mountain-pass 
in  a  theatre. 

It  is  apparent  that  in  such  paintings  an  attempt  is 
made  to  depict  in  a  single  view  events  that  could  not 
conceivably  be  actually  perceived  thus.  The  pictures, 
therefore,  are  not  representative  of  the  appearances  of 
nature.  We  must  be  careful,  however,  not  to  carry  this 
principle,  thus  briefly  stated,  too  far.  In  the  picture  by 
Delaroche  in  the  hall  for  the  distribution  of  prizes  in 
the  School  of  Fine  Arts  in  Paris,  the  figure  of  Fame 
sits  in  the  centre,  crowning  with  laurel  seventy  figures, 
the  great  artists  of  every  land  and  age,  who  are  repre- 
sented as  standing  or  seated  before  her.  In  the  "School 
of  Athens,"  by  Raphael  (Fig.  22,  page  167),  we  see,  in 
addition  to  certain  great  men  of  different  periods  of  an- 
cient Greece,  Raphael  himself  and  his  master  Perugino. 
These  are  what  are  termed  allegorical  paintings.     There 


FIQ-  22-SCHOOL  OF  ATHENS.-RAFHAEL. 
See  pages  166,  259,  284,  285,  316. 


167 


1 68  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

are  some  who  hold  that  all  kinds  of  allegorical  paintings 
usually  violate  the  principle  of  Lessing  because  they 
attempt  to  depict  as  appearing  at  one  time  a  collection 
of  persons  or  a  series  of  events  which  in  real  life  could  be 
perceived  only  in  succession  or  at  different  times.  Others, 
however,  not  without  reason,  defend  such  appearances  in 
a  single  picture  upon  the  ground  that,  when  the  mind  re- 
calls "Artistic  Fame  "  or  "Athens  "  it  thinks  of  the  char- 
acters represented  not  as  existing  in  different  places  or 
periods,  but  in  that  one  conception  of  its  own  imagina- 
tion. Why,  it  is  asked,  should  not  the  representation  of 
the  imagination  reveal  them  all  as  present  together? 
However  this  question  be  answered,  one  would  be  untrue 
to  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  did  he  not  acknowledge  a 
liability,  at  least,  to  confusion  in  such  paintings.  Not 
only  so,  but  it  seems  to  be  a  fact,  too,  that  those  portions 
of  an  allegoric  painting  which  are  favourites  are  less  so 
on  account  of  their  connection  wifeh  the  whole  picture 
of  which  they  form  a  part,  than  because  they  can  be 
separated  from  it,  as  is  shown  in  so  many  copies  and 
photographs  that  are  made  of  the  group  of  the 
"Young  Pilgrims"  taken  from  Kaulbach's  "Destruction 
of  Jerusalem." 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  need  not  be  inferred  that 
painters  can  never  draw  their  subjects  from  poetry,  or 
poets  from  painting.  It  need  merely  be  inferred  that 
there  should  be  a  difference  in  the  ways  in  which  the  two 
arts  treat  the  same  subject.  For  instance,  in  Cole's 
series  of  pictures  entitled  "The  Voyage  of  Life,"  and  in 
Hogarth's  series  entitled  "The  Rake's  Progress,"  each  of 
the  separate  pictures  represents  only  a  single  situation. 
Yet  all,  placed  side  by  side,  accomplish,  without  any  vio- 
lation of  the  principle  that  we  have  been  discussing,  the 


PAINTING  VERSUS  SCULPTURE.  1 69 

same  purpose  that  would  be  reached  were  the  successive 
details  unfolded  in  a  single  product. 

Just  as  poetry,  though  it  should  not  directly  represent 
space,  as  in  the  passage  quoted  on  page  162,  yet  may  indi- 
rectly suggest  it,  as  in  the  passages  on  pages  163  and  164, 
so  painting  and  sculpture  may  suggest,  though  they  should 
not  directly  represent,  time.  (See  page  317.)  Painting, 
however,  is  better  fitted  to  suggest  time  than  is  sculpture. 
This  is  so  because  painting,  as  a  rule,  can  represent  a 
larger  space  than  sculpture, — a  space  filled  with  more 
objects  and  figures  and  indicating,  therefore,  more  inter- 
change between  them  of  cause  and  effect,  which  latter 
seem  to  involve  movement.  The  effects  of  statuary  are 
produced  through  the  use  of  bulk,  i.  e.,  of  outlines,  in- 
cluding those  of  length,  breadth,  and  thickness, — outlines 
that  one  can  sometimes  walk  around  and  observe  from 
every  side.  For  this  reason  sculpture  is  at  its  best  in  the 
statue,  or,  so  far  as  in  the  relief,  in  that  in  which  the 
figures  project  to  the  greatest  degree  possible.  This  con- 
dition is  represented  in  significance  by  giving  to  each 
figure,  even  of  a  group,  an  individual  rather  than  a  col- 
lective, associative,  or  communicative  interest.  The  fig- 
ures depicted  in  the  frieze  surrounding  the  Parthenon, 
whether  in  the  procession  or  not,  represent  very  little 
interchange,  between  one  figure  and  another,  of  thought 
or  feeling.  In  this  regard  they  present  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent appearance  from  the  figures  in  such  paintings  as 
Rubens's  "  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  (Fig.  1,  frontispiece), 
or  Raphael's  "Death  of  Ananias  "  (Fig.  37,  page  233).  In 
the  sculptured  group  of  "  Niobe  and  Her  Children  "there 
is  no  interchange  of  sympathy  ;  nevertheless,  because  each 
figure,  in  its  own  way,  gives  expression  to  the  same  gen- 
eral emotion  of  grief,   its  position   is  interpretive  of  the 


170 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


meaning  of  all  the  figures.  Or  take  a  more  marked  ex- 
ample. The  German  scholar,  Ludwig  Preller,  says  that 
the  "Apollo  Belvedere"  (Fig.  23,  page  170),  or  the  statue 
after  which  this  is  modelled,  probably  stood  originally  on 

the  apex  of  the 
pediment  of  a  tem- 
ple at  Delphi,  with 
the  statue  termed 
"Diana  of  the 
Louvre"  on  one 
side  of  it,  and  the 
statue  termed 
"Athena  of  the 
Capital "  on  the 
other  side.  This 
would  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  the 
answer  said  to 
have  been  given, 
when  the  Gauls 
approached  Del- 
phi, tc  the  ques- 
tion of  the  people 
fig.  23-the  apollo  belvedere.  whether  the  treas- 

See  pages  170,  171,  242,  243,  290.  ufes  q[  ^&  temple 

should  be  removed.  The  answer  was,  "  I  myself 
[meaning  Apollo]  and  the  White  Maidens  [meaning 
Athena  and  Diana]  will  take  care  of  that."  Now  if 
we  can  recall  the  appearance  of  these  statues  as  thus 
situated,  we  shall  be  able  to  comprehend  how  their 
postures,  full  of  movement  as  each  is,  should  mutually 
add  to  one  another's  interest,  and  at  the  same  time  not 
interfere  at  all  with  the  statuesque  character  of  the  effect 


STATUESQUE    VERSUS  PICTURESQUE.  171 

of  each.  It  is  noteworthy,  too,  how  much  more  this 
individual  interest  attaching  to  the  figures  is  apt  to  be 
awakened  in  sculpture  than  in  painting.  We  seldom  see 
in  a  picture  a  figure  that  stands  out  from  all  surrounding 
figures,  asserting  such  claims  to  pre-eminent  and  exclusive 
attention  as  is  common  in  groups  of  statuary.  Continu- 
ing this  line  of  thought,  we  shall  soon  recall  how  super- 
latively we  have  enjoyed  certain  statues,  for  the  very 
reason,  apparently,  that  they  were  placed  so  that  one  could 
view  them  apart  from  anything  else, — statues  that  stand 
in  rows,  or  in  alcoves  by  themselves,  as  is  the  case  at 
Rome  with  the  "Apollo  Belvedere"  (Fig.  23,  page  170) 
and  the  "  Venus  of  the  Capital,"  and  at  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main  with  the  "Ariadne."  These  facts  may  aid  us  in 
forming  a  conception  of  what  is  meant  by  saying  that 
the  statue's  significance  is  less  dependent  than  is  that 
of  a  painting  upon  the  suggestion  of  cause  and  effect  as 
operating  in  time. 

But  there  is  yet  a  more  important  limitation  to  the  sub- 
ject-matter in  sculpture.  This  is  owing  to  its  slight  use  of 
colour.  The  difference  between  it  and  painting  occasioned 
by  this  fact  may  be  brought  out  by  recalling  the  differ- 
ence, which  all  recognise,  between  the  meaning  of  the 
terms  picturesque  and  statuesque.  The  picturesque,  as 
it  will  be  defined  on  page  181,  involves  a  conception  of 
much  and  minute  variety.  And  this  is  just  what  painting 
involves.  The  colour  that  is  used  in  it,  and  not  in  sculp- 
ture, is  never  well  applied  unless  it  imitates  the  influences 
of  light  and  shade  in  nature  to  such  a  degree  as  to  cause 
slight  differences  at  almost  every  perceptible  point.  Be- 
sides this,  colour  enables  the  artist  to  separate,  one  from 
another,  and  thus  to  represent  clearly,  a  very  large  number 
of  small  details  most  of  which  would  be  indistinguishable 


17-  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

if  an  attempt  were  made  to  indicate  them  in  sculp- 
ture. In  this  latter  art,  landscape  is  well-nigh  im- 
possible, and  so  is  any  extensive  grouping  of  figures. 
Moreover,  the  difficulty  of  the  work,  the  permanence  of 
the  material,  and  the  fact  that  the  shape,  when  com- 
pleted, is  to  be  the  sole  object  of  attention,  all  combine  to 
make  especially  inappropriate  the  representing  in  sculp- 
ture of  a  trivial  subject.  This  ought  to  be  dignified,  or, 
in  lieu  of  that,  at  least  a  subject  treated  in  a  dignified 
way.  For  this  reason,  notice  that,  in  a  sense  not  true  of 
painting,  it  is  appropriate  that  the  figure  delineated  in  a 
statue  should  be  represented  in  a  form  greatly  exagger- 
ated. Large  pictures,  like  those  of  West,  sometimes 
offend  us  by  their  very  size  ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive 
of  an  attractive  picture  with  figures  of  heroic  proportions. 
But  the  "Moses"  of  Angelo  or  the  "  Bavaria"  in  Munich 
does  not  offend  us.  On  the  contrary,  very  small  pictures, 
as  in  miniatures,  are  often  extremely  pleasing  and  valu- 
able. But  most  of  us  cannot  avoid  feeling,  when  we  see 
the  bronze  doors  of  the  Florence  Baptistry,  that  the  small 
size  of  the  figures  makes  the  work  expended  upon  them 
hardly  worth  while,  because  such  subjects  could  have 
been  represented  so  much  more  satisfactorily  in  pictures. 
Let  us  now  notice  the  importance  of  separating  clearly 
the  conditions  naturally  represented  in  painting  and 
sculpture  from  those  naturally  represented  in  architecture. 
When  our  race,  with  no  models  to  direct  them,  began  to 
build  houses  and  temples,  the  external  forms  of  each  were 
determined  by  the  design  for  which  it  was  constructed, — 
a  design  suggested,  as  reflection  will  show  that  it  must 
have  been,  by  the  modes  of  attaining  in  nature  ends  like 
those  of  support,  protection,  and  shelter.  This  being  the 
case,  the  desire  to  attain  these  ends  was  evident  to  every 


ARCHITECTURE    VERSUS  SCULPTURE.  1 73 

one  who  saw  the  building;  in  other  words,  the  building's 
effects  were  artistic  in  the  sense  of  being  genuinely  repre- 
sentative of  the  design  of  the  builder. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  after  many  such  structures 
had  been  erected,  and  some  of  them  had  come  to  be 
especially  admired  for  their  appearance,  a  class  of  artists 
arose  more  intent  to  imitate  this  appearance  than  the 
methods  in  accordance  with  which  the  older  architects 
had  designed  the  buildings  and  caused  them  to  appear  as 
they  did.  As  a  consequence,  there  came  to  be  no  appar- 
ent connection  between  the  outward  form  of  a  building 
and  that  for  which  it  was  designed;  — in  other  words, 
architecture  ceased  to  be  representative,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  word  has  been  used  in  this  essay.  But  besides 
this,  after  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture  had  been 
developed,  architects  began  to  manifest  a  tendency  to 
imitate  the  methods,  if  not  the  appearances,  employed  in 
these  other  arts.  In  accounting  for  the  inferiority  of  the 
architecture  of  the  Renaissance,  Fergusson,  in  the  intro- 
duction to  his  "  History  of  Modern  Architecture,"  says: 
"  Most  of  those  who  first  practised  it,  at  the  time  the 
revolution  took  place,  were  either  amateurs,  sculptors, 
or  painters.  .  .  .  All  painters  can  make  architectural 
designs  for  the  backgrounds  of  their  pictures.  .  .  . 
But  if  any  one  supposes  that  such  a  design  will  make  a 
permanently  satisfactory  building,  he  knows  little  of  the 
demands  of  true  art." 

In  this  passage,  Fergusson  ascribes  inferiority  to  mod- 
ern architecture  as  contrasted  with  mediaeval, — though  he 
does  not  use  this  phraseology, — because  of  the  prevailing 
tendency  in  this  art  to  derive  its  methods  from  painting 
and  sculpture  rather  than  from  the  natural  promptings 
and  requirements  of  architecture  itself.     One  element  of 


174  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

successful  architecture  undoubtedly  is  the  mere  external 
appearance  of  a  building.  And  yet,  if  this  alone  be  re- 
garded, is  it  not  evident  that  the  building  will  be  the 
embodiment  of  a  motive  less  legitimate  distinctively  to 
architecture  than  to  painting,  or  to  sculpture?  And  is  it 
not  because  of  this  confusion  of  motives  that  we  find  in 
our  modern  buildings — in  their  cornices,  roofs,  windows 
and  walls — so  much  that  is  false, — in  other  words,  so  much 
that  is  merely  on  the  outside,  put  there  to  look  well,  not 
to  fulfil  or  to  give  embodiment  to  any  such  significance 
as  it  is  the  peculiar  function  of  architecture  to  represent? 
This  is  not  to  say  that,  in  this  art,  the  external  form  should 
violate  the  laws  of  proportion  or  harmony  ;  but  it  is  to 
say  that  these  latter  should  be  made  to  accord  with  the 
general  design,  to  be  manifested,  if  possible,  in  outlines 
so  disposed  as  to  indicate  this  design,  and  not,  as  is  true 
in  too  many  cases,  to  conceal  it. 

To  recapitulate  now  all  that  has  been  said  with  refer- 
ence to  the  arts  of  sight,  the  works  of  the  landscape  gar- 
dener resemble  nature  in  almost  every  feature ;  those  of 
the  painter,  in  colour  and  outline;  those  of  the  sculptor,  in 
outline  only.  In  architecture,  the  product  resembles  na- 
ture not  even  in  outline,  except  as  it  may  be  broken  up 
and  arranged  anew.  The  painter  and  the  sculptor  observe 
nature  for  the  purpose  of  copying  its  forms  ;  the  architect, 
for  the  purpose  of  constructing  new  and  different  forms 
for  which,  as  wholes,  nature  furnishes  no  copy.  In  his 
work  that  contrast  between  the  product  and  nature  which 
is  mentioned  on  page  1 57  is  often  so  complete  that  the  one 
no  longer,  as  in  the  case  of  painting,  necessarily  suggests 
the  other.  If  the  forms  used  by  the  architect  be  beauti- 
ful, it  is  less  because — -except,  of  course,  when  used  in  or- 
namentation— they  are  the  same  in  detail  as  those  found 


ARCHITECTURE  AND  MUSIC.  1 75 

in  nature,  than  because  they  are  the  same  in  principle,  be- 
cause they  are  controlled  by  the  same  general  laws  that 
underlie  all  appearances  and  combinations  of  them  that 
are  naturally  pleasing. 

In  this  regard,  in  its  lack  of  the  imitative  element,  and 
therefore  in  having  forms  that  recall  nature  more  by  way 
of  association  than  of  comparison,  architecture  resembles 
music, — "  frozen  music,"  as  Madame  de  Stael  said.  It  is 
important  to  observe,  however,  that  the  reason  of  this 
resemblance  between  the  two  arts  is  owing  not  to  a  simi- 
larity in  the  factors  entering  into  the  result,  but  to  a  simi- 
lar lack  of  balance  in  the  way  in  which  they  are  blended. 
In  music  the  consciousness  of  the  moving  or  emotional 
influence  is  so  strong  that,  as  contrasted  with  it,  the  mind 
is  hardly  aware  of  its  own  ideas.  In  architecture,  on  the 
contrary,  the  consciousness  of  this  influence  is  so  slight 
that  it  is  of  this  that  the  mind  is  hardly  aware.  That 
which  flows  in  the  one  art  may  be  said  to  be  congealed  in 
the  other,  and  the  artistic  representation  of  each  state  of 
consciousness  evinces  this.  The  medium  of  music  moves ; 
that  of  architecture  stands.  Because  of  the  lack  of  bal- 
ance in  both  arts  between  the  consciousness  of  the  influence 
that  moves  and  of  the  ideas  that  are  moved,  the  connec- 
tion between  influence  and  ideas  is  not,  in  either  art,  al- 
ways apparent.  Many,  in  fact,  fancy  that  music  represents 
no  ideas,  and  that  architecture  represents  nothing  except 
ideas.  But  the  truth  is  that,  without  both  arts,  the  repre- 
sentations of  the  different  phases  of  consciousness,  de- 
veloping, one  after  another,  as  has  been  shown,  would  be 
incomplete.  The  two  arts  are  expressive  respectively  of 
the  two  extremes  of  this, — of  those  misty  border-lands  of 
apprehension  where  the  results  of  that  which  influences 
consciousness  appear  and  where  they  disappear. 


I76  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

Taken  together,  all  the  arts  that  have  been  mentioned 
represent  every  possible  effect  produced  in  the  mind  as 
emotion,  intellect,  and  will  successively  receive  and  mod- 
ify the  influence  that  the  audible  or  visible  forms  of  nature 
exert  upon  them.  The  expressional  series  is  complete  all 
the  way  from  where,  in  music,  we  heed  the  roaring  of  the 
waves  of  influence  as  they  dash  upon  apprehension,  to 
where,  in  architecture,  we  perceive  the  spray  that  con- 
geals in  fairy  shapes  above  the  place  where  their  force 
has  been  spent. 


CHAPTER  XL 

DIFFERENCES  IN  THE  SAME  ART  AS   REPRESENTING   DIF- 
FERENT DEGREES  OF  CONSCIOUS  OR  SUBCON- 
SCIOUS   MENTAL   ACTION. 

The  Balance  between  Influence  upon  the  Conscious  and  Subconscious 
Mind — Religious,  Scientific,  and  Artistic  Conceptions — Expressed  in 
Idealism,  Realism,  and  Idealised  Realism — In  the  Good,  True,  and 
Beautiful  ;  the  Sublime,  Picturesque,  and  Brilliant  ;  the  Grand, 
Simple,  and  Striking — The  Sublime — Illustrations — The  Picturesque — 
The  Brilliant — Distinction  between  the  Beautiful  and  the  Brilliant 
— The  Grand  as  Allied  to  the  Horrible — The  Simple  to  the  Pathetic 
— The  Striking  to  the  Violent — True  in  All  the  Arts — The  Epic — 
The  Realistic — The  Dramatic — Aim  of  Epic-Recital — Of  Realistic — 
Of  Dramatic — Epic  Art-Products — Realistic — Historic — The  Historic 
Distinguished  from  the  Dramatic — Dramatic  Poetry  :  Lyrics — Drama- 
tic Character-Painting — Genre  Painting — Dramatic  Painting  Proper — 
Historic  Distinguished  from  Dramatic  Sculpture — Practical  Object  of 
These  Distinctions. 

\\7  E  have  found  that  the  peculiarities  of  the  concep. 
tions  respectively  represented  in  each  of  the  arts 
are  attributable  to  the  different  degrees  in  which  the  mind 
is  influenced  from  within  or  from  without.  There  are  also 
different  degrees  in  which  the  mind,  whether  influenced 
from  within  or  from  without,  is  stimulated  to  exercise 
what,  in  Chapter  III.,  were  termed  its  conscious  or  its 
subconscious  powers.  In  this  chapter  it  is  to  be  shown 
that,  in  each  art,  there  are  certain  subdivisions  determined 
by  the  relative  influence  exerted  upon  conception  from 
the  one  or  the  other  of  these  sources. 

i77 


I78  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

According  to  what  was  said  in  Chapter  III.,  there  are 
three  different  general  methods  of  forming  conceptions. 
These  are  the  religious  method,  in  which  subconscious 
intellection  is  supreme;  the  scientific,  in  which  conscious 
intellection  is  supreme  ;  and  the  artistic,  in  which  neither 
is  supreme,  but  sometimes  the  subconscious  acts  the 
more  strongly,  sometimes  the  conscious,  and  sometimes 
the  effect  of  the  one  exactly  balances  that  of  the 
other.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  in  artistic  concep- 
tions at  times  that  tendency  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
religious  may  be  the  more  prominent  ;  and,  at  other 
times,  that  tendency  which  is  characteristic  of  the  scien- 
tific ;  and  that,  therefore,  aside  from  the  tendency  which, 
as  characteristic  of  an  even  balance  between  the  two  forms 
of  intellection,  is  in  the  highest  sense  artistic,  two  other 
tendencies  may  also  be  artistic,  one  of  which,  without 
crossing  the  boundaries  of  art,  inclines,  nevertheless, 
toward  religion,  and  the  other  toward  science. 

Here  we  have  suggested  three  divisions  of  artistic  repre- 
sentation. They  may  be  termed  respectively  the  religious- 
artistic,  the  scientific-artistic,  and  the  artistic-artistic. 
The  three  respectively  give  rise  to  three  different  classes 
of  expressional  results.  These  are  apparently  produced, 
in  the  first  class,  from  behind  the  form  ;  in  the  second,  in 
the  form  ;  and  in  the  third,  through,  with,  or  by  the  form. 
Religious-artistic  expression,  which  is  that  of  the  first 
class,  seems  to  be  spontaneous,  and  comparatively  free 
from  any  conscious  endeavour  to  limit  or  fit  the  subject- 
matter  to  the  form  of  representation.  Scientific-artistic 
expression,  which  is  that  of  the  second  class,  seems  to  be 
under  the  influence  of  that  which  would  accurately  meas- 
ure the  subject-matter  and  accommodate  it  to  the  form. 
Artistic-artistic  expression,  which  is  that  of  the  third  class, 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF    ART-SIGNIFICANCE.        IJQ 

seems  aimed  to  emphasise  the  subject-matter  through  em- 
phasising also  the  forms,  and  causing  it  to  transfigure 
them.  The  first  tendency,  in  conforming  the  repre- 
sentation to  the  idea  within,  naturally  gives  expression 
to  that  which  is  termed  idealism  ;  the  second,  in  conform- 
ing the  representation  to  the  real  conditions  without, 
naturally  gives  expression  to  realism  ;  and  the  third,  in 
conforming  the  representation  to  the  blending  of  these 
two  other  tendencies,  naturally  gives  expression  to  what 
may  be  termed  idealised  realism. 

The  respective  tendencies  thus  distinguished  will  enable 
us  to  classify,  and,  sufficiently  for  our  purpose,  to  define 
certain  terms  with  which  every  one  is  more  or  less  fa- 
miliar. Three  of  these  terms,  all  of  which  seem  to  be 
determined  chiefly  by  the  relation  of  the  result  to  the 
religious  or  spiritual  tendency,  because  they  are  mainly 
attributable  to  the  source  or  subject-matter  of  the  ex- 
pression, are  the  good,  allied  to  the  religious ;  the  true, 
allied  to  the  scientific  ;  and  the  beautiful,  allied  to  the 
artistic.  Three  more  terms,  all  of  which  seem  to  be  de- 
termined chiefly  by  the  relation  of  the  result  to  the  scien- 
tific tendency,  because  they  are  mainly  attributable  to  the 
nature  of  the  expression  when  the  subject-matter  comes 
in  contact  with  form,  are  the  sublime,  allied  to  the  re- 
ligious ;  the  picturesque,  allied  to  the  scientific  ;  and  the 
brilliant,  allied  to  the  artistic.  Three  remaining  terms, 
all  of  which  seem  to  be  determined  chiefly  by  the  relation 
of  the  effect  to  the  artistic  tendency,  because  they  are 
mainly  attributable  to  the  expressional  result  when  the 
subject-matter  has  passed  through  the  form  and  is  ex- 
erting an  influence  on  the  man  who  contemplates  it,  are 
the  grand,  allied  to  the  religious  ;  the  simple — called  thus 
because  not   elaborated  or  changed  essentially  from  the 


ISO  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

condition  in  which  it  is  presented  in  nature, — which  is 
allied  to  the  scientific ;  and  the  striking,  allied  to  the 
artistic. 

Upon  thinking  over  the  characteristics  indicated  by 
these  terms,  no  one  will  have  difficulty  in  recognising  the 
reason  why  the  subject-matter  of  religious-artistic  ex 
pression  should  be  termed  distinctively  the  good ;  or  why 
the  subject-matter  of  scientific-artistic  expression,  which 
is  concerned  chiefly  in  causing  the  forms  of  art  to  be 
accurate  representations  of  the  forms  or  laws  of  nature, 
should  be  termed  distinctively  the  true ;  or  why  the  sub- 
ject-matter of  artistic-artistic  expression,  as  the  very 
term  artistic  suggests,  should  be  termed  distinctively  the 
beautiful.  Nor  need  there  be  difficulty  in  recognising 
the  appropriateness  of  the  terms  that  have  been  used  to 
designate  the  effect  of  the  expression  where  it  comes  into 
contact  with  the  form.  The  religious-artistic  tendency,  of 
course,  must  be  that  which  is  most  spiritual  and  intangi- 
ble, the  most  nearly  allied  to  the  infinite,  eternal,  and  ab- 
solute essence  or  force  lying  behind  the  material  forms 
supposed  to  embody  it.  A  moment's  reflection  will  show 
us  that  this  same  tendency  can  always  be  affirmed  of  an 
expression  which  we  term  sublime.  The  sublime  conveys 
an  impression  of  a  conception  too  disproportionately 
large  to  be  distinctly  embodied  in  a  material  form  or  even 
to  be  entirely  grasped  by  human  apprehension.  Here, 
for  instance,  is  Milton's  celebrated  description  of  Satan, 
so  often  used  as  an  illustration  of  this  sentiment : 

He  above  the  rest, 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower  ;   his  form  had  not  yet  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  arch-angel  ruined,  and  the  excess 


THE   SUBLIME  AND    PICTURESQUE.  l8l 

Of  glory  obscured  ;  as  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;   or  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations  ;  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 

Paradise  Lost,  i. 

A  similar  vagueness  is  characteristic  of  Michael  An- 
gelo's  picture  of  "  The  Last  Judgment,"  as  well  as  of  his 
statue  of  "  Moses,"  whose  colossal  proportions  and  divine 
mien  are  suggestive  of  far  more  spiritual  breadth  of  force 
than  can  fitly  be  contracted  within  the  limits  of  a  human 
figure.  "In  the  sublime,"  says  Edmund  Burke,  in  his 
"  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,"  "  the  mind  is 
hurried  out  of  itself  by  a  crowd  of  great  and  confused 
images,  which  affect  because  they  are  crowded  and  con- 
fused ;  for  separate  them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the 
greatness ;  and  join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the 
clearness." 

When  the  subject  of  artistic  conception  becomes  en- 
tirely comprehensible  and  tangible,  it  passes  to  the  method 
of  expression  which  has  been  termed  scientific-artistic. 
Science  deals  with  facts  as  they  are  ;  and  the  scientific 
tendency  in  art  represents  thoughts,  sights,  or  events  with 
literal  fidelity.  It  does  not  labour  to  rearrange  them  so  as 
to  make  them  conform  to  some  ideal  standard  either  in 
the  mind  or  out  of  it.  To  quote  from  Sir  William  Ham- 
ilton in  his  "  Lectures  on  Metaphysics  "  :  "  Variety,  even 
apart  from  unity,  is  pleasing;  and  if  the  mind  be  made 
content  to  expatiate  freely  and  easily  in  this  variety  with- 
out attempting  painfully  to  reduce  it  to  unity,  it  will  de- 
rive no  inconsiderable  pleasure  from  the  exertion  of  its 
powers.  Now  the  picturesque  object  is  precisely  of  such 
a  character."     The  following,  for  instance,  is  picturesque; 


l82  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

and  if  it  were  represented  in  a  painting,  or  in  architecture, 
as  it  might  easily  be,  it  would,  of  course,  furnish  an  illus- 
tration of  the  picturesque  in  these  arts  also  : 

And  me  that  morning  Walter  showed  the  house, 
Greek,  set  with  busts  ;  from  vases  in  the  hall 
Flowers  of  all  heavens,  and  lovelier  than  their  names, 
Grew  side  by  side  ;  and  on  the  pavement  lay 
Carved  stones  of  the  abbey-ruin  in  the  park. 
Huge  Ammonites,  and  the  first  bones  of  Time. 
And  on  the  tables  every  clime  and  age 
Jumbled  together  ;  celts  and  calumets, 
Claymore  and  snow-shoe,  toys  in  lava,  fans 
Of  sandal,  amber,  ancient  rosaries, 
Laborious  Orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere, 
The  cursed  Malayan  crease,  and  battle-clubs 
From  the  isles  of  palm  ;  and  higher  on  the  walls 
Betwixt  the  monstrous  horns  of  elk  and  deer 
His  own  forefathers'  arms  and  armour  hung. 

The  Princess  :  Tennyson. 

When  the  subject  of  conception  comes  to  be  expressed 
in  form,  the  artistic  impulse  to  rearrange  and  to  re- 
shape is  sometimes  so  strong  as  virtually  to  transfigure 
the  form.  This  condition  gives  rise  to  the  brilliant.  In 
the  sublime,  the  subjects  represented  seem  too  large  or 
grand  for  the  form  ;  in  the  picturesque,  they  seem  exactly 
reproduced  in  the  form  ;  in  the  brilliant,  they  seem  en- 
hanced in  value  by  the  form,  or,  as  we  might  say,  the 
form  seems  too  large  for  them.  The  effect  in  the  last  case 
is  like  that  of  placing  a  lens  before  a  picture.  The  brill- 
iant is  characterised,  therefore,  by  the  opposite  of  vague- 
ness, i.  e.,  by  luminosity  ;  by  a  luminosity,  too,  which  gives 
not  only  light,  shade,  and  colour,  but  outlines  also  that 
often  seem  greatly  magnified.  Of  course,  in  the  brilliant, 
the  subject-matter  may  be  of  importance,  but  this  is  not 
necessary.     The  following  passage  derives  its  artistic  value 


THE   BRILLIANT.  1 83 

from  subordinate  considerations  added  to  the  principal 
subject-matter  in  order  to  enhance  the  brilliancy  of  the 
presentation : 

I  saw  young  Harry, — with  his  beaver  on, 

His  cuisses  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arm'd, — 

Rise  from  the  ground  like  feather'd  Mercury, 

And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat. 

As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 

To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

/  Henry  LV.,  iv.,  1:  Sliakcspeare. 

By  classifying  the  brilliant  rather  than  the  beautiful  as 
the  distinctively  artistic  tendency  of  the  same  impulse 
which,  considered  in  relation  to  the  good,  causes  the  sub- 
lime, one  escapes  from  such  a  criticism  as  is  made  by 
Chaignet  in  his  "  Les  Principes  de  la  Science  du  Beau  " 
upon  the  inclination  manifested  by  most  writers  to  sepa- 
rate the  sublime  altogether  from  the  beautiful.  He  fur- 
nishes a  very  striking  illustration  of  the  close  connection 
between  the  two  by  using  three  successive  quotations. 
One  is  from  Jouffroy.  In  this,  in  order  to  show  the  dif- 
ference between  the  effects  of  two  works  of  art,  the 
writer  says  that,  in  gazing  at  the  Aolplo,  you  recognise  that 
you  experience  the  pleasure  of  the  beautiful ;  whereas 
in  gazing  at  the  Laocoon,  "you  experience  the  emotions 
of  the  sublime."  The  next  quotation  is  from  Lessing, 
who  declares  in  his  "  Laocoon "  that  one  experiences 
the  sensation  of  beauty  in  that  statue;  and  the  third  is 
from  Winckelmann,  who  says  in  his  "  History  of  Ancient 
Art  "  that  one  experiences  the  sensation  of  the  sublime  in 
the  face  of  the  Apollo.  When  doctors  disagree  thus 
there  must  be  a  good  reason  for  it.     "Therefore,"  argues 


184  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF   ESTHETICS. 

Chaignet,  "  the  sublime  is  not  different  from  the  beautiful, 
only  one  department  of  it." 

There  is  no  need  of  illustration  to  show  the  general  con- 
nection between  the  sublime  and  the  grand,  the  picturesque 
and  the  simple,  or  the  brilliant  and  the  striking.  It  may 
be  of  interest,  however,  to  show  the  connection  between 
the  first  two  and  the  expression  of  the  non-pleasurable  as 
in  the  horrible,  c.  g.  : 

What  may  this  mean 
That  thou,  dread  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel, 
Revisitest  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous  ;  and  we,  fools  of  nature, 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition 
With  thoughts  Deyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this  ? 

Hamlet,  i.,  4:  Shakespeare. 

Also    between    the  picturesque,   or    the   simple,   and  'the 
pathetic,  c.  g.  : 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  O 

The  difference  to  me  ! 

The  Lost  Love  :    Wordsworth. 

As  well    as    between    the  brilliant,  or  the  striking,  and 
the  violent,  c.  g. : 

All  the  contagion  of  the  south  light  on  you. 

You  shames  of  Rome  !     You  herd  of —     Boils  and  plagues 

Plaster  you  o'er  ;  that  you  may  be  abhorred 

Farther  than  seen,  and  one  infect  another 

Against  the  wind  a  mile  ! 

Coriolanus,  i.,  4:  Shakespeare. 

Whether  manifested  in  music,  painting,  sculpture,  or 
architecture  we  all  associate  the  sublime,  the  grand,  and 
the  horrible  with  more  or  less  of  the  same  sort  of  vague- 
ness in  rhythm,  melody,  harmony,  colour,  or  outline  which 


THE   GRAND,    SIMPLE,    STRIKING.  185 

in  poetry  has  been  shown  to  suggest  something  beyond 
the  possibility  of  exact  formulation.  In  the  same  art- 
methods,  too,  we  associate  the  picturesque,  the  simple, 
and  the  pathetic  with  that  which  is  normal  in  effect,  often 
in  the  sense  of  being  exactly  imitated  from  nature  ;  and 
we  associate  the  brilliant,  the  striking,  and  the  violent 
with  runs  and  chords  in  which  each  note,  amid  difficulties 
overcome  by  skill,  rings  out  with  exceptional  distinctness; 
with  colours,  the  exact  hues  of  which,  amid  similar  diffi- 
culties, it  is  impossible  to  mistake ;  and  with  outlines 
which,  notwithstanding  equal  obstacles,  stand  out  in  cor- 
respondingly bold  relief. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  religious  tendency  in  art  leads 
to  the  representation  of  the  good,  the  sublime,  and  the 
grand.  A  moment's  thought  will  enable  many  of  us  to 
recall  that  these  are  exactly  the  characteristics  most  dis- 
tinctive of  what  is  termed  epic  art,  a  well-known  definition 
of  which  is  that  of  Blair  in  his  "  Rhetoric,"  namely,  "  the 
illustrating  of  some  great  and  general  idea."  This  might 
be  improved  by  saying  that  it  is  the  illustrating  of  a  great 
idea  or  spiritual  principle,  through  forms  typical  of  the 
general  effect  of  its  influence. 

It  has  been  said,  too,  that  the  scientific-artistic  tendency 
emphasises  the  connection  between  the  thing  signified  and 
the  form.  Of  course,  the  practical  effect  is  great  accuracy 
in  the  delineation,  all  the  details  of  natural  appearance,  in 
the  order  of  succession  and  of  interaction,  being,  in  a  sense 
not  true  in  epic  art,  necessary  to  the  desired  result.  This 
we  find  to  be  the  condition  in  what  maybe  called  realistic 
art — the  art  not  necessarily  of  that  which  is  termed  real- 
ism, but  the  art  which  has  the  general  tendency  of  real- 
ism, and  may  be  defined  as  the  delineating  of  material 
and  mental  effects  in  human  and  non-human  life  exactly 


1 86  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

as,  on  the  surface,  they  appear  to  be.  The  term  historic 
has  sometimes  been  applied  to  this  form  of  art,  but  it  is 
narrower  in  its  meaning,  and  accurately  distinguishes  only 
one  subdivision  of  the  form. 

Once  more,  it  has  been  said  that  the  artistic-artistic  tend- 
ency emphasises  the  "  form  signifying."  This  is  the  char- 
acteristic of  dramatic  art,  which  accepts  the  influence  of 
the  subject-matter  only  after  this  has  taken  possession 
of  a  particular  medium  of  expression  and  transfigured 
it,  producing  thus  a  result,  as  will  be  noticed,  exactly  the 
opposite  of  the  religious-artistic  tendency.  Instead  of 
giving  supremacy  to  the  general  and  indefinite,  of  which 
the  form  is  typical,  the  dramatic  emphasises  the  special 
and  definite,  thus  enlarging  the  attractiveness  and  import- 
ance of  the  form  itself,  furnishing 

— to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v.,  i:   Shakespeare. 

In  contrast  to  the  epic  and  the  realistic,  the  dramatic  may 
be  defined  as  the  impersonating  of  individual  character- 
istics as  affected  by  considerations  influencing  them  from 
within  and  from  without.  It  will  be  noticed  that  the  defini- 
tion is  broad  enough  to  include  dramatic  effects  as  pro- 
duced in  and  by  not  only  human  forms,  but  also  those  that 
are  non-human. 

These  definitions  of  the  three  main  divisions  of  art-form 
differ  in  phraseology,  but  correspond  in  essentials  to  the 
same  as  recognised  many  times  before.  Thus,  Fuseli,  in 
the  third  of  his  "  Lectures  on  Art,"  says  that,  "  in  the  epic, 
act  and  agent  are  subordinate  to  the  maxim  ;  and  in  pure 
history" — what  has  here  been  termed  the  realistic — "  are 
mere  organs  of  the  fact ;  but  the  drama  subordinates  both 
fact  and  maxim  to  the  agent,  his  character  and  passion." 


THE  EPIC.  187 

The  distinction  between  the  three  and  also  the  natural 
order  of  sequence,  as  related  to  one  another,  may  be  better 
understood,  perhaps,  through  an  illustration.  Suppose 
that  one  be  moved  to  tell  a  story.  That  which  first 
prompts  him  to  do  so  is  some  thought,  usually  a  general 
impression,  which  strikes  him  in  connection  with  certain 
transactions  that  he  has  witnessed  or  heard ;  and  because 
the  impression  remains,  he  tells  the  story  in  such  a  way  as 
to  convey  to  his  hearers  an  impression  similar  to  his  own. 
His  whole  object  in  the  recital,  though  he  may  not  be 
conscious  of  it,  is  to  make  clear  the  impression,  or,  as  we 
sometimes  say,  the  moral,  the  point  that  has  interested 
him,  and  so  long  as  he  does  this,  he  cares  little  about  ac- 
curacy in  all  the  details.  Now  this  is  the  condition  requi- 
site to  the  epic  form  of  art,  and,  as  all  of  us  will  probably 
recognise,  this  is  the  condition  of  the  method  most  natu- 
rally adopted  by  those  who  gain  the  reputation  of  being 
good  story-tellers.  Therefore  it  seems  appropriate  that  the 
Greeks,  taking  their  term  from  a  word  meaning  story, 
should  have  named  this  form,  par  excellence,  the  epic,  or 
story-style. 

But  there  is  another  way  in  which  one  may  recall  the 
same  transactions.  After  reflecting  upon  them  a  little,  he 
may  begin  to  analyse  the  different  deeds  or  words  of  the 
person  implicated,  and  to  ask  himself,  Why  did  this  one 
do  this  or  say  that  ?  These  reflections  will  lead  him  to 
think  more  particularly  of  the  details  of  the  transactions 
and  sayings,  and  of  each  of  them  in  the  order  of  its  occur- 
rence. When,  after  such  a  consideration,  he  comes  to  tell 
the  story,  although  possibly  he  may  not  neglect  to  bring 
out  that  which  at  first  seemed  to  him  to  be  its  "point," 
nevertheless  this  will  appear  subordinate  to  the  accuracy 
with  which  he  relates  the  details  themselves  and  their 


1 88  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 

interaction.  In  other  words,  his  desire  to  be  true  to  the  facts 
in  their  order  of  sequence — i.  c,  to  the  scientific-artistic 
tendency — will  realise  the  condition  requisite  to  what  has 
been  termed  realistic  art ;  and  with  reference  to  this,  it  is 
evident  that  while  such  a  mode  of  recital  may  render  a 
story  far  less  interesting  as  a  mere  story,  it  will  render  it  far 
more  satisfactory  to  a  consideration  purely  intellectual  and 
analytic. 

Once  more,  there  is  a  third  way  of  telling  the  story. 
After  analysing  the  different  words  and  deeds  of  the  per- 
sons engaged  in  the  transactions,  a  man  may  become  con- 
scious of  forming  definite  conclusions  with  reference  to  the 
motives  and  characters  of  these  persons,  and,  as  a  result  of 
his  conclusions,  he  may  be  joyous  or  otherwise,  according 
to  the  degree  in  which  the  events  have  pleased  or  grieved 
him.  At  this  stage,  he  will  be  prompted  to  express  his 
pleasure  or  grief;  i.e.,  his  emotions,  and,  while  doing  so, 
in  order  to  manifest  his  reasons  and  enforce  their  reason- 
ableness on  others,  he  will  be  led  instinctively  to  imitate 
the  expressions  or  appearances  of  the  characters  to  whom 
he  is  referring.  This  gives  us  the  condition  requisite  to 
dramatic  art — from  the  word  dramarc,  to  act.  In  this 
form,  the  story  is  told,  not  with  supreme  reference  to  the 
point  or  moral,  as  in  the  epic,  or  to  the  details  or  facts,  as 
in  the  realistic,  but  to  the  effects  produced  upon  thought 
or  feeling,  and  to  the  way  in  which  they  can  be  represented 
in  action. 

Among  epic  products  we  may  place  not  only  the  dis- 
tinctively epic  poems  of  the  world,  like  Homer's  "  Iliad," 
Virgil's"  ^Eneid,"  and  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost";  or  dis 
tinctively  epic  sculpture,  like  the  "Moses"  of  Michael 
Angelo  ;  or  epic  painting,  like  the  same  artist's  representa- 
tion in  the  Sistine  Chapel  at  Rome  of  the  whole  history  of 


EPIC  PRODUCTS.  I89 

creation  together  with  the  fall  of  Adam,  the  deluge,  the 
Old  Testament  dispensation,  and  the  coming  of  the  Re- 
deemer and  his  final  separation  of  the  good  from  the  evil 
in  the  Last  Judgment.  We  may  place  here,  also,  many 
symbolic  and  alleogrical  poems,  like  the  "  Faerie  Queene  " 
of  Spenser;  many  pictures  of  the  same  kind,  like  the 
"  Poetry,"  "  Science  "  or  "  Destruction  of  Jerusalem,"  by 
Kaulbach;  and  many  statues,  like  the  "Bavaria"  at  Munich. 

Among  realistic  products,  we  may  place  non-epic  nar- 
ratives like  some  of  the  ancient  ballads,  "The  Canterbury 
Tales  "  of  Chaucer,  or  "  The  Borough  "  of  Crabbe  ;  also  de- 
scriptive poems  like  Goldsmith's  "  Deserted  Village"  or 
Burns's  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night  ";  and  even  didactic 
poems,  when  including,  as  they  usually  do,  like  Words- 
worth's "  Excursion"  and  Campbell's  "Pleasures  of  Hope," 
narratives  or  description.  Here,  too,  we  may  place 
the  majority  of  landscapes  and  figure-paintings  that  are 
mainly  imitative,  like  those  of  Teniers  or  Meissonier ; 
and  here,  too,  that  great  and  important  class  of  pictures 
and  statues  that  goes  by  the  name  of  historic. 

In  order  to  illustrate  precisely  what  an  historic  painting 
is,  Mr.  Long,  in  his  "Art,  Its  Laws  and  the  Reasons  for 
Them,"  speaks  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  "  Portrait  of 
Elliott,"  the  British  commander  at  Gibralter  in  the  year 
when  it  was  attacked  by  the  combined  French  and  Spanish 
forces.  "The  painter's  design  was  not  simply  to  give  a 
portrait  of  Mr.  Elliott,  but  of  General  Elliott;  not  only 
that,  but  of  the  successful  defender  of  Gibraltar  upon  that 
occasion.  He  has  therefore  represented  him  in  his  mili- 
tary costume,  and  holding  in  his  hands  a  key,  in  symbolic 
allusion  to  the  fact  of  that  citadel's  being  the  key  to  the 
Mediterranean.  In  the  distance  may  be  seen  the  two 
squadrons   at   the   moment   of  battle,  and   behind  him   a 


I9O  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

cannon  pointed  downwards  to  show  the  loftiness  of  the 
fortress, — all  which  surroundings  connect  him  with  that 
transaction,  and  thus  make  the  representation  a  good 
illustration  of  historic  portraiture.  But  to  define  more 
particularly  the  class  under  consideration,  it  may  be 
proper  to  state  that  the  painter  of  pure  history  does  not, 
like  the  dramatic  painter,  represent  that  which  might  be, 
but  that  which  was  or  is."  Fuseli,  in  his  third  "  Lecture  on 
Painting"  gives  a  still  clearer  description  of  historic  art: 
"  Fiction  now  ceases,  and  invention  consists  only  in  select- 
ing and  fixing  with  dignity,  precision,  and  sentiment  the 
movements  of  reality.  Suppose  that  the  artist  choose  the 
death  of  Germanicus, — he  is  not  to  give  us  the  highest  im- 
ages of  general  grief  which  impress  the  features  of  a  people 
or  a  family  at  the  death  of  a  beloved  chief  or  father,  for  this 
would  be  epic  imagery;  we  should  have  Achilles,  Hector, 
Niobe.  He  is  not  to  mix  up  character  which  observation 
and  comparison  have  pointed  out  to  him  as  the  fittest  to 
excite  the  gradations  of  sympathy;  not  Admetus  and 
Alceste,  not  Meleager  and  Atalanta ;  for  this  would  be 
the  drama.  He  is  to  give  us  the  idea  of  a  Roman  dying 
amidst  Romans,  as  tradition  gave  him,  with  all  the  real 
modifications  of  time  and  place  which  may  serve  unequivo- 
cally to  discriminate  that  moment  of  grief  from  all  others." 
From  what  has  been  said,  it  will  be  evident  that  to  dis- 
tinguish historic  from  dramatic  painting  is  in  some  cases 
extremely  difficult.  Nor  can  it  be  done  at  all  except  by 
first  deciding  what  is  the  predominating  motive  that  the 
picture  exhibits.  When  we  look,  for  instance,  at  some  of 
the  products  of  the  Dutch  School,  at  a  picture,  say,  of 
Teniers,  or  at  some  of  the  work  of  a  painter  like  J.  F.  Millet 
(Fig.  5,  page  61,  and  Fig.  7,  page 91),  we  find  much  that 
suggests  the  dramatic.     But  when   we  seek  for  the  pre- 


THE  HISTORIC  AND   DRAMATIC.  I9I 

dominating  motive  of  the  artist,  we  recognise  that  it  must 
have  been  to  picture  the  life  of  the  peasant  as  he  really  saw 
it ;  and  this  leads  us  to  class  his  work  as  realistic.  On  the 
contrary,  when  we  look  at  a  picture  like  Piloti's  "  Death  of 
Wallenstein"or  Gerome's"  Pollice  Verso"  (Fig.  4, page 41), 
it  suggests,  at  first,  only  the  historic;  yet  the  predominat- 
ing motive  of  the  artist  was  so  evidently  to  portray  char- 
acter as  emotively  affected  by  certain  specific  events  that, 
as  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare's  historic  plays,  we  can  call 
the  paintings  historic  in  only  the  sense  of  being  historico- 
dramatic.  ft 

Among  the  products  of  dramatic  art,  we  may  place  not 
only  plays  intended  to  be  acted,  but  also  poems  like  "  The 
Ring  and  the  Book,"  by  Robert  Browning,  or  "  Aurora 
Leigh,"  by  Mrs.  Browning,  which,  with  primary  reference 
to  dramatic  effect  in  the  portrayal  of  situation  or  char- 
acter, relate  a  tale  or  report  a  series  of  conversations. 
Here,  too,  belongs  the  lyric  when  at  its  best.  In  this  case 
it  produces  the  effect  of  a  dramatic  soliloquy,  speech,  or 
story,  e.  g.'. 

0  let  the  solid  ground 

Not  fail  beneath  my  feet, 
Before  my  life  has  found 

What  some  have  found  so  sweet! 

Maud:    Tennyson. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  the  water, 
The  nursling  of  the  sky, 

1  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores, 
I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 

The  Cloud:  Shelley 

"O  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 
And  call  the  cattle  home. 
And  call  the  cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee  !  " 


I92  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  \vi'  foam, 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

0  Alary,  Go  and  Call  the  Cattle  Home  :    Kingsley. 

The  object  of  dramatic  painting  is  to  reveal  the  effects 
upon  particular  characters  or  temperaments  of  particular 
occurrences  or  surroundings.  As  in  dramatic  poetry,  so  in 
this  kind  of  painting,  all  should  be  definite  and  vigorous, 
if  not  brilliant  and  striking.  We  place  first  here  what  may 
be  called  character-painting.  The  most  typical  form  of 
this  seems  to  be  exemplified  in  that  popular  phase  of  art 
represented  by  "  The  Beggar  Boys  "  of  Murillo.  But  por- 
traits, too,  are  often  so  composed  as  to  come  strictly  within 
this  class.  Kugler,  in  his  "  Handbuch  der  Kunstge- 
schichte,"  says  of  the  portraits  of  Titian's  daughter, 
Lavinia:  "One  of  the  finest  is  in  the  Berlin  Museum. 
Here  the  beautiful  and  splendidly  attired  girl  is  holding 
up  a  plate  of  fruit."  "  Another  "is  "  in  the  possession  of 
Lord  De  Gray,  where,  instead  of  fruit,  she  is  holding 
up  a  jewel-casket.  A  fourth  is  in  the  Madrid  Gallery, 
but  here  it  becomes  an  historical  representation  ;  it  is  the 
daughter  of  Herodias."  No  one  needs  to  have  explained 
why  portraits  like  this  can  be  said  to  be  portraits  in 
character. 

There  are  some  paintings — not  all — of  the  class  usually 
called  genre  which  seem  to  be  dramatic.  What  other  word 
can  describe  pictures  like  "  The  Card  Players,"  by  Caravag- 
gio  (Fig.  18,  page  122)?  In  this,  we  see  cards  and  money 
on  a  table.  Seated  on  one  side  of  this  is  a  man  with  a  dis- 
honest face.  On  the  other  side,  playing  with  him,  is  a  man 
with  an  innocent  face,  evidently  just  the  one  to  be  made  a 
dupe.  Behind  this  last  man,  looking  over  his  shoulder 
stands  a  third,  muffling  his  breath  to  prevent  his  presence 
from  being  detected,  and  holding  up  two  fingers  to  let  the 


THE  DRAMATIC.  1 93 

first  player  know  what  cards  are  being  played  by  the 
second. 

The  dramatic  proper  in  painting,  as  in  poetry,  sometimes 
differs  from  the  historic  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the 
historic  features  are  subordinated.  For  instance,  though 
suggested  by  historic  facts,  the  "  Rape  of  the  Sabines,"  and 
"The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,"  by  Poussin  (Fig.  36, 
page  23 1  ),  "  The  Descent  from  the  Cross"  (  Fig.  1,  Frontis- 
piece), "  The  Crucifixion,"  and,  more  unmistakably,  "  The 
Lion  Hunt,  "  by  Rubens,  are  dramatic  rather  than  historic. 
So  are  the  greater  works  of  Raphael, — even  those  so  appar- 
ently historic  as  "  The  Vision  of  Constantine,"  "  The  Burn- 
ing of  Borgo,"  "The  Death  of  Ananias"  (Fig.  37,  page  233), 
and  "  The  Defeat  of  Attila."  This  is  so,  because  the  de- 
sign in  them  is  to  represent  not  general  ideas,  as  in  epic 
art,  but  specific  persons;  and  not  the  literal  facts  with  ref- 
erence to  these  persons  as  in  historic  art,  but  certain  con- 
ditions indicative  of  their  characters.  As  Fuseli  says,  in 
the  third  of  his  "  Lectures  on  Painting":  "...  Leo, 
with  his  train,  calmly  facing  Attila,  or  deciding  on  his  tri- 
bunal the  fate  of  captive  Saracens,  tell  us  by  their  presence 
that  they  are  the  heroes  of  the  drama,  that  the  action  has 
been  contrived  for  them,  is  subordinate  to  them,  and  has 
been  composed  to  illustrate  their  character." 

To  distinguish  between  historic  and  dramatic  sculpture 
is  hardly  necessary.  All  will  recognise  the  one  in  the  or- 
dinary bust  and  statue  erected  to  commemorate  some  per- 
son who  has  actually  lived,  and  the  other  in  such  a  product 
as  the  Laocoon  (Fig.  19,  page  123)  or  the  so-called  Dying 
Gladiator.  There  are  developments  analogous  to  those  of 
the  epic,  the  realistic,  and  the  dramatic  in  both  music  and 
architecture.  But  they  are  not  ordinarily  noticed;  and  to 
point  them  out  here  would  take  up  too  much  space.  They 


194  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

are  treated  in  Chapters  XX.  and  XXI.  of  the  author's 
"The  Representative  Significance  of  Form." 

One  thought  more,  however,  may  be  in  place  before 
closing  this  chapter.  Some  reader  may  be  prompted  to 
ask  whether  the  distinctions  between  the  epic,the  realistic, 
and  the  dramatic  that  have  been  made  are  really  necessary; 
whether  they  have  any  practical  bearing.  The  answer  to 
this  is  that  everything  has  a  practical  bearing  in  art  which 
tends  to  cause  a  product  to  convey  an  impression  of  unity, 
in  accordance  with  the  principles  to  be  brought  out  in 
Chapter  XIV.  An  art-product  that  is  neither  distinctly 
epic,  realistic,  nor  dramatic  is  lacking  in  definiteness 
of  effect — not  in  definiteness  of  thought,  which  is  not 
always  desirable  (see  page  115).  Any  lack  of  definite- 
ness of  effect  is  usually  felt  to  be  inartistic.  Wholly 
satisfactory  results  can  be  attained  by  the  artist  in 
only  the  degree  in  which,  throughout  his  work,  he  con- 
fines himself  to  one  of  the  three  general  methods  of  pre- 
sentation that  have  here  been  differentiated. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

REPRESENTATION    IN   THE    ELEMENTS    OF  FORM  IN   THE 
ARTS  OF   SOUND. 

Recapitulation — Necessity  of  Studying  the  Elements  of  Representation — 
Especially  as  Produced  through  the  Vocal  Organs  and  Hands — In 
the  Arts  of  Elocution  and  Gesture — Meanings  of  the  Elements  of 
Sound  in  Elocution — Duration  Representing  Mental  Measurement  in 
Music — In  Poetry — Force  Representing  Mental  Energy  in  Music — 
In  Poetry — Pitch  Representing  Mental  Aim  or  Motive — Directions  of 
Pitch  in  Elocution — Principle  Further  Illustrated — Different  Meanings 
of  the  Same  Phraseology  when  Differently  Intoned — The  Same  Prin- 
ciple Fulfilled  in  Music — In  Modern  Melodies — Other  Illustrations — 
In  Poetry — Illustrations — Quality  Representing  Mental  Feelings — In 
Elocution — Analogies  in  Nature — in  Music — In  Imitative  Music — 
Different  Qualities  in  Music — In  Poetry;  Imitative  Effects — Associative 
Effects. 

TTAVING  considered  the  general  form  of  mental  con- 
ception naturally  represented  in  each  art,  and  the 
effect  in  each  of  representing  different  degrees  of  balance 
between  that  which  is  due  to  subconscious  and  to  conscious 
mental  action,  we  are  now  prepared  to  confine  our  atten- 
tion to  form.  In  doing  this,  it  will  be  logical  to  start  with 
that  which  is  most  internal  in  the  form,  and  to  end  with 
that  which  is  most  external;  in  other  words,  to  notice,  first, 
the  representative  contents  of  the  form,  and,  later,  the 
representing  composition. 

As  wehave  discovered,  art  isthe  representation  of  a  man's 
thoughts  and  emotions  through  a  use  of  the  phenomena  of 

195 


196  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

nature.  What  is  to  be  said  in  this  chapter  has  been 
suggested  by  the  very  evident  fact  that  no  representation 
of  this  kind  would  be  possible  unless  the  elements  of 
which  each  art  is  composed  were  themselves  representative 
both  of  mind,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  material  nature 
upon  the  other;  nor  unless  they  were  representative  of 
these  in  a  way  so  unmistakable  that  ordinary  consideration 
could  recognise  the  fact.  What  are  these  elements,  and 
of  what  may  they  be  said  to  be  representative  ?  Let  us 
answer  these  questions. 

In  doing  so,  let  us  start  by  recalling  the  statement  made 
in  Chapter  I.,  namely,  that  all  forms  of  expression  possible 
to  art  of  the  highest  rank  are  developments  of  a  man's 
use,  for  this  purpose,  of  his  vocal  organs  and  of  his  hands. 
This  statement  at  once  suggests  an  inquiry  into  the 
methods  through  which  vocal  organs  and  hands  can  be 
made  to  express,  or  represent,  thoughts  and  emotions. 
Evidently,  only  after  we  have  ascertained  this,  can  we  be 
prepared  to  understand  how  the  same  can  be  expressed  in 
the  arts  developed  from  these  methods. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  argue  that  the  best  way  of  carry- 
ing on  the  inquiry  just  indicated  is  to  go  at  once  to  the 
arts  of  elocution  and  of  gesture.  In  the  former,  special 
study  has  been  made  of  expression  through  the  use  of  the 
vocal  organs,  and  in  the  latter  of  the  same  through  the  use 
of  the  hands,  primarily,  and,  secondarily,  of  the  whole 
body. 

In  its  use  of  the  vocal  organs,  elocution  has  the  power  of 
producing,  through  the  intonation  of  words,  irrespective 
of  their  articulation,  an  almost  endless  variety  of  effects; 
and  the  argument  is  logically  irresistible  that  these  effects 
are  the  same  in  kind  as  are  those  of  music  and  poetry. 
What,  then,  are  the  elements  of  elocutionary  effect  ?     We 


EXPRESSION  IN  ELOCUTION.  1 97 

shall  find  four  of  these.  They  can  all  be  perceived  by 
emphasising  strongly  the  first  syllables  of  barbarous,  mur- 
muring, tartarizc,  Singsing,  or  papa,  or  by  emphasising  a 
word  likely  in  the  sentence'^  \x\\\ go  if  so."  In  giving  the 
emphasis,  it  will  be  noticed  that  the  emphatic  syllables 
and  the  word  go  are  made  to  differ  from  that  which  ac- 
companies them  first,  in  duration:  they  are  sounded  in 
longer  time  ;  second,  in  force:  they  are  sounded  with  more 
energy;  thin!,  in  pitch;  they  are  sounded  on  a  key  which, 
if  used  in  music,  would  be  relatively  higher  or  lower  in 
the  musical  scale;  fourth,  in  quality:  they  are  sounded  with 
more  fulness  or  thinness  of  tone.  Simply  by  increasing 
the  degree  in  which  any  of  these  elements  enter  into 
ordinary  accentuation,  we  can  increase  the  degree  of 
emphasis  represented  by  them. 

What  do  these  elements  represent? — and,  first,  what 
does  duration  represent?  What  is  indicated  by  fast  time, 
and  by  slow  time?  Evidently  these,  respectively,  imitate 
effects  in  nature  that  move  rapidly  and  slowly.  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  by  way  of  association,  rapidity  is  indicative 
of  moods  that  are  joyous  or  mirthful;  or,  as  applied  to 
special  thoughts  or  feelings,  of  such  as  seem  deserving  of 
only  brief  consideration  because  they  are  light  or  trifling. 
Slowness,  on  the  contrary,  is  indicative  of  grave  and 
serious  moods,  of  thoughts  and  feelings  worthy  of  long  con- 
sideration; therefore,  of  moods  of  dignity  and  importance. 
In  other  words,  duration  represents  the  mental  estimate,  or 
degree  of  valuation.  What  has  been  said  hardly  needs 
illustration.  Every  one  can  recall  the  general  difference  in 
rapidity  between  ordinary  dance-music,  as  it  is  termed,  and 
church  music;  or  between  a  hornpipe  and  a  hymn;  and  he 
knows,  too,  that  this  difference  is  determined  not  alone  by 
the  necessity  of  conforming  the  music  to  actual  outward 


ig8  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

movements,  as  in  the  dance,  but  also  by  the  fact  that  the 

dance  and  the  hornpipe  represent,  by  way  of  association* 

joyous,  mirthful,  light,  trifling  moods,  and  that  the  church 

music  and  the  hymn  represent  the  opposite. 

Precisely  the  same     principles  are   fulfilled   in  poetry. 

The  following  represents  a  galloping  movement  : 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  lie; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three. 

How  They  Brought  the  Good  ATews  :  Browning. 

And  the  following  a  painfully  slow  movement: 

First  march  the  heavy  mules  securely  slow  ; 

O'er  hills,  o'er  dales,  o'er  crags,  o'er  rocks  they  go. 

Pope's    Tr.  of  the  Iliad. 

This  indicates  a  joyous,  light  mood: 

My  eyes,  how  I  love  you, 

You  sweet  little  dove  you, 

There 's  no  one  above  you, 

Most  beautiful  Kitty. 

Kitty:  Anon. 

And  this  a  matter  of  seriousness  and  importance : 

Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Elegy  in  a  Country  Church  -  Yard:  Gray. 

Passing  on  now  to  force,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  de- 
termining what  it  means,  through  observing  the  mani- 
festations of  it  in  nature.  Great  force,  of  course,  represents 
that  which,  in  nature,  has  a  loud  sound,  or  is  so  vast 
in  size  that  its  sound,  if  produced,  would  be  expected  to 
be  loud;  and  slight  force  indicates  that  which  has  a  soft 
sound,  or  is  so  small  that  its  sound,  if  produced,  would  be 
expected  to  be  soft.  Besides  this,  great  force,  involving 
loudness  of  tone,  indicates  great  energy,  either  of  body 
or  of  mind  ;  as  in  expressions  of  earnestness,  stre?igth,  self- 
assertion,     vehemence.     For    an    analogous    reason,   slight 


FORCE   IN  ELOCUTION.  1 99 

fcrce,  involving  softness  of  tone,  indicates  the  opposite,  i.  e., 
little  energy,  as  in  expressions  of  indifference,  zveakness, 
gentleness,  mildness.  Force  may  thus  be  said  to  represent 
the  mental  energy.  It  is  in  fulfilment  of  these  principles 
that  Haydn  imitates,  as  one  may  say,  the  roaring  of  a 
storm  in  the  chorus  in  "  The  Creation,"  beginning  "  The 
Lord  devoureth  them  all  ";  and  Wagner  the  singing  of  a 
bird  in  the  forest  scene  in  "Siegfried."  It  is  in  fulfilment 
of  the  same,  that  a  "march"  is  loud  and  rousing,  and  a 
"  cradle-song  "  soft  and  soothing. 

Similar  forceful  effects  are  produced  in  poetry  through 
the  use  either  of  series  of  long  syllables,  e.  g.: 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow. 

Essay  on  Criticism  :  Pope. 

Or  of  strongly  marked  accents,  e.  g.: 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay; 
Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay! 

Hunting  Song:  Scott. 

And  weak  effects  through  series  of  short  syllables,  e.  g.: 

Then  we  let  off  paper  crackers,  each  of  which  contained  a  motto, 
And  she  listened  while  I  read  them,  till  her  mother  told  her  not  to. 

Ferdinando  and  Elvira:  Gilbert. 
Or  of  weak  accents,  c.  g.  : 

So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
Moved  on  with  difficulty  and  labour  he. 

Paradise  Lost,  2  :  Milton. 

In  accordance  with  the  principle  of  correspondence,  the 
conditions  of  pitch  high  or  low,  or  its  movements  in 
directions  upward  or  downward  in  the  musical  scale, 
seem  to  be  in  exact  analogy  with  correlated  conditions 
and  directions  with  which  we  are  all  familiar  in  the  ex- 
ternal world  of  space  about  us  ;  and,  like  them,  to  indicate 
the  mental  aim  or    motive.     When,  for  instance,   one  is 


200  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

elated,  he  holds  his  head  high,  and  his  movements  are 
varied  like  those  of  a  buoyant  schoolboy.  When  one  is 
depressed,  his  head  bends  downward  and  his  movements 
are  few.  It  is  the  same  with  the  utterances.  A  soaring 
bird  sings  in  a  high  and  changing  key,  a  crouching  man 
threatens,  or  a  dog  growls  in  a  low  and  monotonous  key. 
High  and  varied  tones,  therefore,  seem  to  represent  ela- 
tion of  spirit,  or  that  which  is  felt  to  be  elevating  in  its 
influence  ;  and  low  and  uniform  tones  represent  depression 
of  spirit,  or  that  which  is  felt  to  be  impressive. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  movements  in  the 
directions  of  pitch.  Its  tendency,  when  two  or  more 
tones  at  different  pitch  are  heard  in  succession  may  be 
upward  or  downward,  or  both  upward  and  downward. 
In  the  last  case,  as  in  the  circumflex  inflection,  there  is 
merely  a  combination  of  the  meanings  in  the  other  two 
cases,  and  we  need  not  consider  it  here.  (See  the  author's 
"Orator's  Manual,"  pp.  56-59.)  When  directed  upward  or 
downward,  pitch  follows  laws  applicable  to  all  movement. 
Men  lift  their  bodies,  limbs,  and  feet,  when  they  start  to 
do  something.  They  let  their  hands  fall  at  their  sides 
and  sit  down  or  lie  down,  when  they  get  through  with 
what  they  have  to  do.  The  lungs  rise  in  inspiration  and 
fall  in  expiration.  So  with  voices  in  speaking.  Their 
sounds  rise  when  a  man  feels  inspired  to  begin  to  say 
something,  e.  g.,  "  If  so,  I  will  go."  They  fall  when  the 
inspiration  is  over,  because  he  has  ended  saying  this,  e.  g., 
"  If  so,  I  will  go."  In  other  words,  upward  and  downward 
movements  of  pitch  represent  the  mental  motive.  The 
voice  rises  when  one  is  moved  to  open,  and  falls  when 
moved  to  close,  the  expression  of  an  idea.  It  must  be 
borne  in  mind,  however,  that  these  directions  of  pitch 
depend  upon  the  relations  of  utterance  to  the  sense,  and 


INFLECTIONS  IN  EIOCUTION.  201 

not  merely  to  the  sentence.  If  the  sense  does  not  close 
or  open  where  the  sentence  does,  the  tones  may  fall  before 
its  close  and  rise  at  its  end,  e.  g.,  "  I  will  go,  if  so,"  "  Will 
you  go?"    No,  I  will  not,  if  he's  there." 

We  may  extend,  and,  at  the  same  time,  explain  this  by 
saying  that  the  voice  rises  for  the  purpose  of  opening'  or 
broaching  an  idea;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of  point- 
ing away  from  the  thought  immediately  expressed,  i.  e., 
when  one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  merely 
anticipative  or  indecisive,  in  the  sense  of  being  in  them- 
selves subordinate,  insignificant,  trite,  negative,  or  question- 
able, as  contrasted  with  something  that  is  expected  to 
be,  or  that  has  been,  expressed  by  the  falling  inflection. 
On  the  contrary,  the  voice  falls  for  the  purpose  of  closing 
or  completing  an  idea  ;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of 
pointing  to  the  thought  immediately  expressed,  i.  e.,  when 
one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  conclusive  or 
decisive,  in  the  sense  of  being  in  themselves  interesting, 
important,  noteworthy,  affirmative,  or  positive.  It  falls 
whenever  it  gives  its  sentence  in  the  sense  either  of 
having  completed  the  expression  of  a  sentiment  or  of 
having  uttered  something  sententiously. 

In  order  to  recognise  the  degree  in  which,  even  in 
speech,  intelligence  of  the  motives  that  are  directing  the 
thoughts  or  feelings  may  be  conveyed  by  methods  other 
than  by  the  mere  articulations  which  cause  the  sounds 
to  be  words,  notice,  in  the  following  examples,  how  the 
same  phraseology  may  be  made  to  convey  entirely  differ- 
ent meanings.  "  We  all  know  his  word  is  a  little  uncer- 
tain," indicates  the  trite,  the  well  known.  "  We  all  know 
his  word  is  a  little  uncertain,"  indicates  the  noteworthy, 
the  important.  "  There  is  a  path  through  the  woods 
here,"    indicates    indecision     in    view    of    the    doubtful, 


202 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


"There  is  a  path  through  the  woods  here,"  indicates  de- 
cision in  view  of  what  is  not  considered  doubtful.  "It 
must  be  so,"  indicates  the  questionable  ;  "  It  must  be  so," 
indicates  positive  assurance.  "He  declaims  very  well," 
gives  questionable  praise  to  the  mediocre;  "  He  declaims 
very  well,"  positively  commends  the  excellent.  "John 
has  returned  home,"  questions  the  action,  or  produces 
the  effect  of  disapprobation;  "  John  has  returned  home," 
affirms  the  action,  and  often  expresses  approbation  of  it. 

That  similar  principles  apply  to  the  movements  of 
pitch  in  the  melody  of  music,  we  might  infer  as  a  result 
of  considering  the  subject  theoretically.  But  we  can  not 
only  infer  it,  but  perceive  it  as  a  result  of  a  practical  study 
of  facts.  Notice  the  following  text,  which  was  con- 
nected with  the  notation  of  the  Gregorian  chants,  written 
in  the  sixth  century  : 


Sic  can -ta  corn-ma,      sic  du  -  o  punc-ta:      sic    ve  -  ro  punctum. 
Thus  sing-  the  com-ma,     and  thus  the  co  -  Ion :    and  thus  the  full  stop. 


JL — * — ^ — * — * — *— 

i — • — • — i — * — »— 

— ^ — • — r — 

W    I     I     1   -1—1— 

1        1        I        1        ' 

Sic  signum    in  -  ter   -  ro  -  ga  -  ti  -  o  -  nis. 
Thus  sing  the  mark  of       in  -  ter  -  ro  -  ga-tion. 


It  is  now  acknowledged  that,  historically,  all  our  mod- 
ern European  systems  of  melody,  and,  through  them,  of 
harmony,  have  grown  out  of  these  chants,  or  at  least  have 
come  down  to  us  through  them.  Could  a  stronger  proof 
be  afforded  that  music  is  a  development  of  that  which  in 
its  incipiency  is  representative?  These  chants  to  which, 
or  through  which,  all  modern  music  is  traceable,  were  de- 


REPRESENTATION  IN  MUSIC. 


203 


liberately  composed  in  order  to  be  representative,  and 
nothing  else. 

The  representative  character  of  the  movements  of  musi- 
cal pitch  is  well-nigh  equally  manifested  in  modern  melo- 
dies. Except  where  the  significance  of  these  depends 
upon  their  connection  with  harmony,  and,  therefore,  ne- 
cessitates the  application  of  a  different  principle,  it  will  be 
found  that  almost  always  in  the  degree  in  which  they 
commend  themselves  to  general  taste  to  such  an  extent  as 
to  continue  to  preserve  their  popularity,  in  that  degree 
they  parallel  the  movements  natural  to  the  speaking 
utterance  of  the  sentiments  to  which  they  give  expression. 
See  the  music  on  page  82. 

As  an  illustration  of  pitch  used  in  order  to  indicate 
actual  upward  movements  in  nature,  notice  how  Wagner 
in  "  The  Reingold"  represents  Erda,  the  mother  of  earth, 
as  with  her  daughters,  the  Nornes,  she  comes  up  from 
below  : 


US 


£ 


*± 


1=1 


V- 


and  later  how  she  sinks  downward  again  : 

*       «   •        -    'J  .        -PL 


W: 


f 


l# 


1 ' tr^* *  ft»  ■    J—* 

Notice,  too,  the  upward  movement  in  the  "  Question  to 
Fate,"  in  Wagner's  "  Walkiire  ": 


ggPg 


J-^L 


S 


#t 


And  the  conclusive    effect    of  the  downward  movement 


204  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

in  what  is  called  the  "  Slumber  Motive,"  suggesting  rest 
from  labour,  in  the  same  opera: 


^H— etc. 


It  might  be  supposed  that  there  would  be  nothing  in 
poetic  form  corresponding  to  these  upward  and  down- 
ward movements.  But,  as  a  fact,  any  metre  causing  a 
line  to  begin  with  an  unaccented  syllable,  or  to  end  with 
an  accented  syllable,  produces,  in  what  are  termed  the 
tunes  of  verse, — unless,  as  sometimes,  the  sense  requires 
a  different  inflection, — the  effect  of  an  upward  move- 
ment. Therefore,  this  metre  naturally  suggests  the  an- 
ticipative,  indecisive,  subordinate,  questionable  effect  of  the 
the  upward  inflection,  e.  g.  : 

Among  the  fancies  tell  me  this, 
What  is  the  thing  we  call  a  kiss  ? 
I  shall  resolve  ye  what  it  is. 

The  Kiss  :  R.  Herriek. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  line  beginning  with  an  accented, 
or  ending  with  an  unaccented  syllable,  produces  the  final, 
decisive,  interesting,  important,  affirmative  effect  of  the 
downward  movement   or  inflection,  e.g.: 

Love  he  comes  and  Love  he  tarries. 
Just  as  fate  or  fancy  carries, — 
Longest  stays  when  sorest  chidden, 
Laughs  and  flies  when  pressed  and  bidden. 

The  First  Kiss  •  Campbell. 

Come  in  the  evening,  or  come  in  the  morning  ; 
Come  when  you'  re  looked  for,  or  come  without  warning  ; 

The  Welcome  •  T.  Davis 


PITCH  AND   QUALITY. 


2C$ 


In  this  connection,  notice  the  following  like  effects 
of  pitch  shown  in  the  melody  both  of  the  music  and 
of  the  verse. 


Lines  with  falling  or  feminine  endings. 
ZION. 


With  rising  or  masculine  endings. 


S    Zi- on  stands  with  hills  surrounded,  7a   -  on,     kept    with  power      di   -     vine;  ) 

\   All  her  foes  shall  be  con-found-ed,        Though  the    world    in    arms      com  -  bine  ;  J 


=fc 


Hap    -    py 


m 


-V 


T 


9  = 


rw 


mm 


Zi     -      on, 


What    a 


•w  -&■   :gfc 

fav  -  ored    lot 


-si-  ■*■=*• 
•&•  ■&- 
is        thine  j 


— «—=■ — « 


— —[  t3 ■ — tm — Ifll r- ==— 


m 


Let  us  now  ask  what  is  represented,  either  in  elocution, 
music,  or  poetry,  by  quality  of  tone.  It  certainly  is  not, 
as  in  the  case  of  force,  mental  energy.  When  a  Patti 
passes  from  a  loud  to  a  soft,  or  from  an  abrupt  to  a 
smooth  tone,  she  changes  greatly  the  kind  of  energy,  but 
her  voice  still  retains  the  same  Patti-quality.  Nor  does 
quality  represent  mere  intellectuality.  A  man,  without 
changing  in  the  least  an  habitual  nasal  or  wheezing  quality, 
may  give  every  inflection  needed  in  order  to  represent  the 
merely  mental  phases  of  the  motive  that  actuates  him.  But 
if  we  frighten  him  severely,  we  may  make  it  impossible 


206  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

for  him  to  use  any  other  sound  than  a  whisper,  i.  e.,  the 
aspirate  quality  ;  if,  in  connection  with  this,  we  anger 
him,  he  will  hiss  ;  or,  if  at  length  he  recover  his  voice,  he 
will  use  the  harsh,  jarring,  interrupted  hard-^*  quality  of 
tone,  termed  the  guttural ;  or,  if  that  which  he  would 
repel  be  too  great  to  make  anger  appropriate,  it  may  widen 
and  stiffen  his  throat  so  as  to  produce  the  hollow,  almost 
inarticulate  indication  of  awe  and  horror  given  by  what 
is  termed  the  pectoral  quality.  Release  him  now  from 
the  influence  of  fright,  anger,  or  horror,  and  put  him  into 
a  gently  satisfied  mood,  and  he  will  use  his  nearest  ap- 
proach to  pure  or  normal  quality.  Stir  him  then  to  pro- 
found emotion,  inspired  by  what  is  deeply  satisfying,  and 
all  his  vocal  passages  will  expand  again,  and  he  will  pro- 
duce his  nearest  approach  to  the  full,  round,  resonant 
quality  termed  orotund. 

For  these  reasons,  it  seems  indisputable  that,  as  applied 
to  vocal  expression,  quality  represents  the  attitude  of  the 
emotive  nature,  i.  e.,  the  feeling  that  one  has  toward  that 
which  is  perceived.  Three  of  the  qualities  refer  to  what 
one  wishes  to  repel,  viz.,  the  hissing  aspirate  indicating 
feelings  like  affright,  amazement,  indignation  and  con- 
tempt;  the  guttural  indicating  hostility  ;  and  the  pectoral, 
atve  or  horror.  Three  other  qualities  refer  to  what,  if  not 
wholly  satisfactory,  at  least  excites  in  one  no  movement 
aimed  against  it.  The  soft  whisper  indicates  feelings  like 
surprise,  interest,  or  solicitude  ;  the  tone  termed  distinct- 
ively the  pure  or  normal  represents  gentle  contemplation  of 
what  may  be  either  joyous  or  sad  ;  and  the  orotund  repre- 
sents deep  delight,  admiration,  courage,  or  determination, 
as  inspired  by  contemplation  of  the  noble  or  grand. 

As  is  true  of  duration,  force,  and  pitch,  so  all  these 
forms  of  quality  have  their  correspondences  in  effects  of 


QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  207 

nature  as  manifested  in  other  departments.  Applied  to 
effects  of  water,  for  instance,  a  rushing  stream  would 
represent  the  harsh  aspirate,  a  rocky  stream  the  guttural, 
a  roiled  stream  the  pectoral,  a  rippling  stream  the  gentle 
aspirate,  a  clear  stream  the  pure,  and  a  full,  deep  stream 
the  orotund. 

That  analogies  exist  between  quality  as  used  in  elocu- 
tion and  in  music,  scarcely  needs  to  be  argued.  There 
can  be  no  very  radical  differences  between  possibilities  of 
quality  in  speaking  and  in  singing,  and  it  is  inevitable  that 
the  mind  should  be  influenced  by  the  resemblance,  or  sup- 
posed resemblance,  of  the  tones  even  of  musical  instru- 
ments to  some  effect  natural  to  the  human  voice,  or  else 
produced  in  some  other  way  in  nature.  In  determining 
such  resemblances,  too,  one  would  probably  be  influenced 
by  the  uses  which,  as  a  rule,  are  made  of  the  particular 
instruments  which  he  is  hearing.  It  is  undoubtedly  ow- 
ing to  associations  of  this  kind  that  we  read  of  the  stirring 
tones  of  the  fife  and  drum,  the  solemn  tones  of  the  organ, 
the  purity  and  softness  of  the  flute,  the  gaiety  and 
triumph  of  the  trumpet,  the  woe  and  complaint  of  the  bas- 
soon, the  pathos  and  humaneness  of  the  violin. 

There  are  effects  of  quality,  too,  which  undoubtedly  are 
purely  imitative,  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  comparison 
as  well  as  of  association.  All  of  us  have  heard  represent- 
ations of  battles  and  thunder-storms  made  such  through 
using  drums  and  cymbals,  of  birds  through  using  flutes, 
and  of  sleigh-rides  through  the  tinkling  of  bells  and  the 
cracking  of  whips.  But,  possibly,  we  do  not  all  realize 
that  such  forms  of  imitation  are  not  confined,  as  is  some- 
times supposed,  to  works  of  a  low  order  of  merit.  For 
instance,  in  Wagner's  "Walktire,"  to  quote  from  Hans 
von  Wolzogen,  "  The  wind  blows,  the  thunder  rolls,  light- 


2o8  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  .ESTHETICS. 

ning  flashes  in  the  rising  and  falling  sway  of  the  orchestra 
and  of  the  stroke  of  the  weather-god's  hammer  in  the 
'  Motive  of  the  Storm'."  There  is  no  doubt,  too,  that  the 
effects  produced  by  the  violins  in  the  forest-music  pre- 
ceding the  song  of  the  bird  in  "  Siegfried,"  as  well  as  in 
the  pastoral  symphonies  of  Handel  and  of  Beethoven,  are 
intended  to  imitate,  as  heard  in  the  warmth  of  a  summer's 
day  and  stirred  by  a  gentle  breeze,  the  rustling  of  leaves 
and  the  buzz  and  soft  hum  of  insects  ;  in  fact,  the  same  as 
is  imitated  in  another  art  by  Tennyson,  when  in  "The 
Princess,"  he  speaks   of 

The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees. 

These  differences  between  the  representative  qualities 
of  different  musical  instruments  depend  partly  upon  what 
their  sounds  are  in  themselves,  and  partly  upon  the  way 
in  which  they  are  produced — a  violin,  for  instance,  being 
played  sometimes  with  a  bow  and  sometimes  with  the 
finger.  But  that  the  differences  exist,  and  that  they  are 
representative,  is  almost  universally  recognised  by  both 
composers  and  audiences.  When,  for  instance,  in  listen- 
ing to  an  opera,  we  hear  predominantly  the  clash  of  the 
cymbals  or  rattle  of  the  kettle-drums,  associated,  as  these 
usually  are,  with  the  sharper  tones  of  the  metallic  instru- 
ments, we  know  that  the  sounds,  as  in  the  last  act  of 
Mozart's  "  Don  Juan,"  where  hell  is  supposed  to  await 
the  hero,  represent,  according  to  the  degrees  of  their  in- 
tensity, not  only  the  startling,  but  the  hostile  and  menacing 
effects  which,  in  the  human  voice,  we  associate  with  gut- 
tnral  quality.  If  any  action  of  the  play  follow  what  we 
hear,  we  expect  to  see  some  violent  conflict  full  of  malig- 
nity and  peril.  When  the  predominating  sounds  are  those 
of  the  bass  drums  and  the  lower,  more  hollow  tones  of 


QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  20O, 

either  the  wind  or  the  stringed  instruments,  we  know  that, 
as  in  the  orchestration  which  in  Wagner's  "  Siegfried" 
accompanies  the  hero's  encounter  with  the  dragon,  they 
represent  the  presence  of  that  which  inspires  to  awe  and 
horror  such  as,  in  the  human  voice,  we  associate  with  the 
pectoral  quality.  The  resemblance  to  this  tone  in  its 
milder  forms  is  that  which  imparts  a  solemn  effect  to 
some  of  the  music  of  the  church  organ.  When  again  the 
predominating  sounds  are  those  of  the  wood-instruments — 
the  clarinet,  the  flute,  even,  to  some  extent,  the  organ — we 
feel  that  these  represent  the  gently  satisfied  mood,  the 
peaceful  contemplation  which,  in  elocution,  is  indicated  by 
pure  or  normal  quality.  When,  instead  of  the  wooden 
wind  instruments,  we  hear  the  metallic,  as  either  in  the 
organ  or  in  trumpets  and  instruments  of  similar  character, 
we  feel  that  these  represent  the  more  profound  emotions, 
the  admiration,  enthusiasm,  courage,  determination,  that 
we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  elocutionary  orotund 
quality.  To  such  music  we  expect  to  see  troops  march  on 
to  the  stage,  as  in  the  Soldiers'  Chorus  in  Gounod's 
"  Faust,"  giving  vent  to  their  confidence  in  anticipation 
of  victory,  or  to  their  joy  in  view  of  its  accomplishment- 
Once  more,  when  we  hear  the  stringed  instruments  we 
recognise  that  it  is  their  peculiar  function  to  impart  in- 
tensity of  feeling,  just  as  is  true  of  the  elocutionary 
aspirated  quality.  Hence,  the  reason  for  the  use  of  the 
violins  in  that  scene  in  Wagner's  "  Meistersinger  "  which 
takes  place  in  the  house  of  Hans  Sachs  ;  or  in  the  Venus 
music  of  his  "  Tannhaiiser  "  ;  or  in  the  waltz  music  of 
Gounod's  "  Faust."  Just  as  in  the  case  of  the  elocutionary 
aspirate,  too,  so  here  the  effects  of  these  stringed  instru- 
ments may  partake  of  those  of  any  of  the  other  instru- 
ments. Not  only  when  associated,  as  in  orchestral  music, 

^4 


2  to  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

with  the  instruments  that  have  been  mentioned,  but  even 
when  not  associated  with  these,  the  sharper  tones  of  the 
strings  suggest  the  aspirated  guttural,  their  lower  hollow 
tones  the  aspirated  pectoral,  their  struck  tones  as  in  the 
piano,  the  guitar,  and  the  harp,  the  aspirated  pure,  or 
normal,  and  their  tones  as  produced  by  the  bow,  the 
aspirated  orotund. 

Those  familiar  with  poetry  will  recognise,  at  once,  how 
the  principles  just  mentioned  apply  to  it.  Here,  produced 
by  the  quality  of  tone  necessitated  in  uttering  certain 
vowels  or  consonants,  are  distinctively  imitative  effects: 
Of  the  sounds  of  a  knife  when  carving : 

Ancient  rosaries, 
Laborious  orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere. 

The  Princess  :  Tennyson. 

And  here  of  the  loud  dashing  and  soft  rippling  of 
waves  ; 

Roared  as  when  the  rolling  breakers  boom  and  blanch  on  the  precipices. 

Boiidicea  :  Idem. 
The  murm'ring  surge 
That  on  the  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafes. 

Lear,  iv.,6:    Shakespeare. 

And  in  this,  of  ice  and  rocks  resounding  with  the 
clanging  of  armour  and  footsteps  : 

The  bare  black  cliff  clanged  round  him  as  he  based 
His  feet  on  juts  of  slipp'ry  crag  that  rang 
Sharp  smitten  with  the  dint  of  armed  heels. 

Mort  d'  Arthur:  Tennyson. 

And  in  this,  of  the  roar  and  clash  of  warriors  with  their 
weapons   and  chariots : 

Arms  on  armour  clashing  bray'd 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged. 

Paradise  Lost,  6:  Milton. 


ASSOCIATIVE  EFFECTS  OF  SOUNDS.  211 

And  in  this,  the  clear,  crisp  atmosphere  of  a  winter's 
evening  : 

How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle  in  the  icy  air  of  night, 

While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle  all  the  heaven  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight. 

The  Belts:  Foe. 

And  here  are  associative  effects  produced  by  the  like- 
ness of  the  sounds  of  s  and  z  to  the  elocutionary  hissing 
aspirate,  indicating  amazement,  affright,  indignation,  and 
contempt: 

You' shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen 
Tho'  it  do  split  you  ;  for  from  this  day  forth 
I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth — yea,  for  my  laughter — 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Julius  Cossar,  iv. ,  j  :  Shakespeare. 
Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  brazen  pipe  ; 
Blow,  villain,   till  thy  sphered  bias  cheek 
Out-swell  the  colic  of  puff  d  Aquilon. 

Troilits  and  Cressida,  iv.,  J  :  Shakespeare. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sound  of  g  to  the  elocutionary 
guttural  tone  indicating  hostility: 

How  the  garden  grudged  me  grass 

Where  I  stood — the  iron  gate 
Ground  his  teeth  to  let  me  pass. 

A  Serenade  at  the  Villa  :  R.  Browning. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  an,  on,  and  oi  to  the 
elocutionary  pectoral  indicating  horror  : 

With  staring  countenance  stern,  as  one  astown'd, 
And  staggering  steps,  to  weet  what  sudden  stour 
Had  wrought  that  horror  strange. 

Faerie  Queen,  /,  8,  J  :  Spenser. 

For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble, 
Like  a  hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 
Double,  double  toil  and  trouble, 
Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Macbeth ,  iv. ,  i :  Shakespeare. 


212  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  s  and  sh  to  the  elocu- 
tionary soft  whisper  indicating  interest,  surprise,  solici- 
tude : 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs  ; 

She  swore. — In  faith  't  was  strange,  't  was  passing  strange, 

'T  was  pitiful,  't  was  wondrous  pitiful. 

Othello,  i.,  j>  :  Shakespeare. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  the  short  vowels  to 
the  elocutionary  pure  or  normal  tone,  indicating  gentle 
contemplation  : 

Thoughts  light,  like  gleams,  my  spirit's  sky, 

But  they  will  not  remain  ; 
They  light  me  once,  they  hurry  by, 

And  never  come  again. 

Despondency:  Matthew  Arnold. 

And  here  the  sounds  of  the  long  vowels  and  of  m,  n,  r, 
and  /are  like  those  of  the  elocutionary  orotund  tone,  in- 
dicating deep  delight,  admiration,  courage,  or  determina* 
Hon  : 

Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around, 
Every  shade  and  hallowed  fountain 

Murmured  deep  a  solemn  sound. 

The  Progress  of  Poesy  :  Gray. 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law. 

Barbara  Frietchie  :  Whittier. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

REPRESENTATION    IN  THE    ELEMENTS    OF    FORM   IN  THE 
ARTS   OF   SIGHT. 

Correspondences  in  Arts  of  Sound  and  of  Sight — Size  Representing 
Mental  Estimate — This  Fact  and  Effects  of  Significance  in  Beauty — 
Large  Size  and  Nearness — Same  Principle  in  Architecture — Resume — 
Massiveness  or  Touch  Representing  Mental  Energy  in  Drawing — Paint- 
ing— Sculpture — Architecture — Outlines  Representing  Mental  Motive 
— Their  Meanings  in  the  Human  Form — In  Gestures  of  the  Hands 
— Fist — Finger — Fullhand — Closing  Gesture — Opening  Gesture — 
Movements  of  Arms — Gestures  Inward  and  Outward — Dramatic  Gest- 
ures— General  Actuating  Motives  Represented  in  the  Gestures — Ana- 
logous Meanings  in  Natural  Scenery,  of  Curves — Of  Straight  Lines  and 
Angles — As  Indicated  by  a  Man's  Use  of  them  in  Landscape-Garden- 
ing — In  Painting —  In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Quality  in  Tone 
Representing  Mental  FeelingFinds  Analogy  in  Colour — Cold  and  Warm 
Colours — Different  Colours  Corresponding  to  Different  Qualities — Nor- 
mal Tone  and  Cold;  Orotund  Tone  and  Warm  Colour — Varied  Colours 
and  Exciting  Effects — Red  and  Trumpet — Examples  from  Painting — 
Colours  in  Human  Countenance — In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Col- 
ours in  Representing  Distance — Applied  to  Buildings — Mixed  Colours — 
Black — Black  with  Cold  Colours — With  Warm  Colours — White  with 
Cold  Colours — With  Warm  Colours — Conclusion. 

JUST  as  the  elements  representing  thought  or  emotion 
in  the  arts  of  sound  are  traceable,  primarily,  to  those 
of  elocution,  so  the  same,  in  the  arts  of  sight,  are  traceable, 
primarily,  to  those  of  gesture.  It  is  through  the  use  of  the 
body,  but  particularly  of  the  hands,  that  we  learn  both  to 
recognise  and  to  make  things  that  have,  or  do  not  have, 

213 


214  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

size,  solidity,  shape,  or  temperature.  These  four,  re 
spectively,  correspond  to  the  elements  of  representation 
already  considered.  Size  ox  extension  influences  our  mental 
valuation  of  effects  of  sight  precisely  as  duration  influences 
us  when  considering  sounds;  solidity,  indicated  in  material 
bodies  by  different  degrees  of  massiveness,  and  in  pigments 
by  apparent  strength  or  weakness  of  touch  in  imparting 
light  or  shade,  with  or  without  colour,  manifests  degrees 
of  mental  energy  in  producing  effects  of  sight  just  as 
force  does  when  used  with  sounds  ;  shape  or  outline,  indi- 
cated by  simple  or  mixed  straight  lines,  angles,  or  curves, 
reveals  the  mental  aim  ox  motive  in  producing  effects  of 
sight  precisely  as  pitch  does  in  sounds  ;  and  temperature, 
subtly  associated  with  the  coming  and  going  of  different 
hues  in  the  human  hands  and  face,  and,  therefore,  with 
colour,  suggests  to  sight  the  same  results  of  mental  feeling 
conveyed  by  quality  of  tone. 

To  begin  with  size  or  extension,  men  have  learned  through 
their  own  experience  in  lifting,  or  from  what  they  have 
seen  of  others'  lifting,  that  a  large  object,  one  that  fills  a 
Krge  amount  of  space,  is,  as  a  rule,  heavier  than  small 
jbjects,  and  can  consequently  bear  a  heavier  weight  or, 
as  we  say,  is  stronger.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  com- 
paratively large  limbs,  like  those  of  the  Farnese  Hercules 
(Fig.  24,  page  215),  and  large  pillars,  like  those  of  Melrose 
Abbey  (Fig.  25,  page  216),  necessarily  suggest,  by  way  of 
association,  such  conceptions  as  heaviness,  strength,  im- 
movability,ox  substantiality;  whereas  comparatively  slender 
limbs,  like  those  of  the  Flying  Mercury  (Fig.  26  page  2 1 7), 
or  apparently  small  pillars,  like  those  of  the  interior  of  the 
church  near  Kostroma  (Fig.  27,  page  218),  suggest,  in  the 
same  way,  a  lack  of  weight  and  therefore  such  conceptions 
as  lightness,  weakness,  movability,  or  unsubstantiality.     No 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH  SIZE. 


215 


one  would  expect  the  Hercules  to  be  able  to  fly,  but  he 
mio-ht  expect  this  of  the  Mercury.  The  columns  of  Mel- 
rose Abbey  would  seem  out  of  place  unless  the  roof  were 
apparently  heavy;  and  those  of  the  church  at  Kostroma 
would  be  equally  out 
of  place  unless  the 
roof  were  apparently 
light. 

Just  here  it  may  be 
well  to  point  out  the 
confirmation  afforded 
by  these  facts  of  the 
view  advanced  in  Chap- 
ter II.,  that  beauty  in- 
volves effects  produced 
by  significance  as  well 
as  by  form.  Notice 
how  true  this  is  as  ap- 
plied precisely  where 
the  opponents  of  .this 
view  would  be  most 
likely  to  say  that  it 
could  not  be  applied, 
i.  e.,  to  the  human  form. 
No  possible  conception 
of  the  mere  effects  of 
curves,  straight  lines, 
or  angles  could  account 
for  the  lack  of  beauty 
which  all  feel  to  be  char- 
acteristic     of      clumsy 

members,  especially  of  joints,  as  at  the  neck,  wrists,  and 
ankles  ;    and    of   fragile    members,   especially   where  one 


24.-FARNESE    HERCULES   BY  GLYCON 
THE   ATHENIAN. 
See  pages  214,  215. 


2l6 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


expects  the  opposite,  as  in  the  head,  chest,  and  calves. 
The  only  way  in  which  to  account  for  these  effects  of  size 


FIG.   25.— MELROSE  ABBEY,  SCuTLAnD 
See  pages  214,  215,  219.  261. 


is  to  acknowledge  that,  by  way  of  association,  the  clumsy 
members  suggest  a  lack  of  agility  and,  therefore,  of  the 
possibilities  of  grace,  and  the  fragile  members  a  lack  of 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  SIZE. 


217 


brain,  lung,  or  brawn,  and,  therefore,  of  the  possibilities 
of  strength. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  line  of  thought  from  which  this 
is  a  digression,  it  may  be 
said  again  that  an  object  of 
large  size,  as  contrasted 
with  surrounding  objects 
of  small  size,  represents 
that  which  is  important  or 
influential.1  At  first 
thought,  it  might  be  sup- 
posed that  the  painter 
would  find  it  difficult  to 
represent  by  means  of 
size,  one  of  many  figures 
as  being  important,  and 
yet  to  represent  all  the  fig- 
ures as  being  of  the  same 
relative  size  as  in  nature. 
But  a  little  reflection  will 
enable  us    to   realise  that 

it   is    extremely    easy    tor  RQ -26.— flying  mercury,  bygiovanni 
him   to    do    this,    merely  da  bologna. 

through      an     application  See  pages  214,  215,  242. 

of  the  laws  of  perspective,  i.  e.,  by  depicting  the  im- 
portant figure  or  figures  as  being  in  the  foreground  of  an 
art-product  and  the  unimportant  figures  as  being  in  the 
background.  This  can  produce  the  desired  effect  because, 
in  addition  to  what  has  been  indicated  already,  large  size, 

1  Thus  in  the  temples  and  tombs  of  ancient  Egypt,  the  great  men  are 
depicted  as  being  four  or  five  times  larger  than  those  about  them.  In  con- 
nection with  this  arrangement,  there  is  no  application  of  the  laws  of  the 
perspective,  and,  of  course,  the  general  effect  is  wholly  unnatural. 


2lS 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


as  contrasted  with  small,  indicates  nearness.  By  carrying 
out  the  laws  of  the  perspective,  the  grouping,  either  in 
painting  or  sculpture,  may  be  made  to  represent  both  the 


FIQ.  27.— CHURCH  NEAR  KOSTROMA,  RUSSIA. 
See  pages  214,  215,  219, 

relations  in  the  mind  of  the  conceptions  which  are  associ- 
ated with  the  figures,  and  also  the  relations  in  nature  of 
the  appearances  of  the  figures  with  which  those  of  the 
art-product  are  made  to  compare.  (See  Fig.  2,  page  3, 
and  Fig.  4,  page  41). 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH  DISTANCE. 


219 


Effects  of  nearness  or  remoteness  are  produced  in  the 
same  way  in  architcture.  Massive  outlines  in  walls, 
pillars,  ceilings,  domes,  spires,  lessen  our  appreciation  of 
their  distance  from  us.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  although 
the  actual  measurements  were  the  same,  the  width  of  the 
floor-space  represented  in  Fig.  25,  page  216,  would  appear 
to  be  scarcely  more  that  half  that  in  Fig.  27,  page  2 1 8.      So, 


Acroterium. 

Raking  cornice 
with  cymatium 
I  Pediment  inclosing 
r  tympanum. 

Cornice. 


Entablature. 


Capital. 


\  Colur 


Stylobate. 


FIG.  28.— GREEK  DORIC  TEMPLE  OF  /EGINA. 
See  pages  98,  219,  222,  225,  251,  252,  279,  296,  341. 

too,  owing  to  the  massing  of  outlines  in  large,  unbroken 
spaces,  all  Greek  buildings  appear,  as  a  rule,  smaller  than 
Gothic  buildings  of  the  same  dimensions  in  which  there 
are  details  of  ornamentation  greater  in  number  and  more 
minute  in  size.  Besides  this,  the  Greek  buildings  usually 
appear  lower.  This  is  owing  to  the  effect  of  contrast. 
The  Gothic  buildings  are  higher  in  proportion  to  their 
width.  Compare  the  effects  of  the  Gothic  forms  in  Fig. 
29,  page  220  with  the  Greek  forms  in  Fig.  28,  page  219. 


220 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 


To  sum  up  what  has  been  said  with  reference  to  exten- 
sion, in  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  relatively 
large  and  small  size  corresponding  in  this  regard  to 
relatively  long  and  short  duration,  have  respective  repre- 
sentative effects.  Either  by  way  of  association  or  of 
comparison,  or  of  both,  they  respectively  indicate  what    is 

heavy,  strong,  substantial, 
immovable,  important,  in- 
fluential, dignified,  near, 
on  the  one  hand;  or  else, 
on  the  other  hand,  what  is 
light,  weak,  unsubstantial, 
movable,  unimportant,  un- 
influential,  undignified,  re- 
mote.  This  principle  causes 
us,  when  looking  at  ob- 
jects, to  think  more  of  a 
full-grown  man  than  of  a 
doll,  more  of  a  cathedral 
than  of  a  cottage,  more  of 
the  fingers  on  a  statue  than 
of  the  fringe  on  which 
perhaps,  they  rest,  and  more  of  the  towers  and 
domes  of  a  building  than  of  its  chimneys  and  ventilators. 
The  same  principle  applied  in  connection  with  the  natural 
laws  of  the  perspective,  causes  us  to  give  more  consider- 
ation to  the  full-sized  figuresin  the  foreground  of  a  painting 
than  to  the  minute  objects  in  its  background.  If  the  picture 
be  designed  to  interest  us  in  animals,  this  fact  is  repre- 
sented by  large  size  that  brings  them  to  the  front;  if  in  a 
pasture  in  which  they  are  feeding,  by  small  size  that  sends 
them  to  the  rear.  Overbalancing  foliage,  with  a  cherub's 
face    just    visible    in    it,    emphasises    the    prodigality   of 


FIG.  29.-  HOUSES  Or  PARLIAMENT 

FROM  OLD  PALACE  YARD. 

See  pages  126,  219,  222,  290. 


UJ      5 

a-    a 


2  22  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

inanimate  nature.  A  full-sized  statue,  with  a  few  flowers 
about  it,  emphasises  the  pre-eminence  of  man.  In  a 
building,  the  requirements  for  the  support  either  of  many 
occupants  or  of  a  heavy  superstructure  are  represented 
by  large  foundations,  wall,  or  pillars  (see  Fig.  28,  page  219) 
accommodation  for  crowds,  by  wide  entrances  (see  Fig. 
34,  page  227);  for  light  in  large,  high  rooms,  by  large,  high 
windows  (see  Fig.  29,  page  220)  ;  and  for  air,  by  lofty  roofs 
or  domes  (Fig.  53,  page  281  ;  Fig.  79,  page  354). 

Passing  on  to  the  effects  of  relative  massiveness  or  en- 
ergy of  touch,  which  in  the  arts  of  sight  correspond  to 
force  as  used  with  sounds,  compare  Fig.  30,  page  221,  with 
Fig.  31,  page  223.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  the  heavier  and 
coarser  lines,  characterising  the  first  of  these,  give  one  an 
entirely  different  conception  of  the  degree  of  mental  en- 
ergy exerted  by  the  artist  than  do  the  lighter  and  finer 
lines,  characterising  the  second  ?  From  the  first  we  re- 
ceive an  impression  of  strength  ;  from  the  second,  an  im- 
pression of  delicacy.  Were  the  two  produced  by  different 
artists,  we  might  infer  that  the  difference  in  their  styles 
was  owing  to  a  difference  in  their  mental  characteristics. 
But  notice,  now,  that  there  is  a  reason  outside  of  the  mind 
of  the  artist  for  the  manifestation  of  energy  in  the  one 
sketch,  and  of  a  lack  of  energy  in  the  other.  The  heavy 
lines  are  representative  not  merely  of  the  artist's  own 
moods,  but  of  these  as  excited  by  what  he  has  seen,  and 
with  which,  therefore,  his  moods  are  in  sympathy.  No- 
thing, so  well  as  such  lines,  could  manifest  the  impetuous 
fury  of  the  storm,  the  violent  swaying  of  the  trees,  or  the 
resisting  strength  of  these  and  of  the  rocks.  Nor  could 
anything,  so  well  as  the  delicate  lines,  represent  the  rest- 
ful gentleness  of  the  other  scene,  the  trees  of  which  look 
as  if  unable  to  stand  the  slightest  blow,  and  the  shores   of 


Ul    CO 


224  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

which  seem  ready  to  yield  to  the  feeblest  flood.  Again 
observe  in  Fig.  3,  page  19,  the  comparatively  fine  lines  or 
the  lack  of  lines  used  in  the  delineation  of  the  texture  of 
the  marble  and  of  the  flowers.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  these 
differences  in  the  shading  or  strength  of  lines,  in  such 
cases,  can  be  rightly  termed  representative  both  of  mental 
and  of  material  conditions  ? 

Of  course,  the  same  general  principles  must  apply  to 
lines  produced  through  the  use  of  colour.  "By  a  few 
strokes,"  says  Reynolds,  in  his  eleventh  "Discourse  on 
Painting,"  "  Titian  knew  how  to  mark  the  general  image 
and  character  of  whatever  object  he  attempted." 
"Touch,"  says  Charles  Blanc  in  his  "  Grammar  of  Paint- 
ing and  Engraving,"  translated  by  K.  N.  Doggett — "  touch 
is  the  handwriting  of  the  painter,  the  stroke  of  his  mind. 
.  .  .  Leonardi  da  Vinci  treated  all  his  pictures  with 
equal  touch,  smooth  and  melting.  Titian  himself  made 
little  difference,  and  only  in  the  'Peter  Martyr'  and  'The 
Assumption' he  seems  led  by  his  subject  to  accents  more 
animated,  more  marked  than  usual.  .  .  .  Poussin, 
painting  '  Pyrrhus  Saved'  or  the  '  Rape  of  the  Sabines,' 
treats  his  painting  with  a  manly  hand  and  intentional  rude- 
ness, while  he  guides  the  pencil  with  more  gentleness 
when  he  represents  'Rebecca'  and   her  companions.  " 

The  same  differences  between  the  representative  effects 
of  strength  in  outline  are  perceptible  in  sculpture  also. 
In  the  Laocoon  (Fig.  19,  page  123),  notice  the  feeling  of 
energy  and  strength  conveyed  by  the  way  in  which  the 
serpent  and  the  human  limbs  are  projected  from  the  deep 
shadows  which  the  arrangement  of  them  necessitates. 
The  same  is  true  of  Michael  Angelo's  statue  of  "  Giuliano 
de'  Medici,  with  Figures  of  Night  and  Day  "  (Fig.  8,  page 
96).     In  this  not  only  the  arrangement  of  the  limbs,  but 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  OUTLINES. 


225 


Df  all  the  surfaces,  is  designed  to  bring  out  strongly  con- 
trasting effects  of  light  and  shade.  Considerably  less 
forceful  than  these  are  the  effects  produced  by  mere 
reliefs  such  as  we  have  in  Fig.  9,  page  97,  and  Fig.  10, 
page  98. 

The  same  principles  apply  to  architecture.  Any  one  at 
all  sensitive  to  aesthetic  effects 
will  feel,  almost  at  a  first  glance, 
the  impression  of  strength  con- 
veyed by  the  pillars  of  the  Greek 
temples,  as  in  Fig.  28,  page  219,  or 
by  the  pilasters  of  the  Renaissance 
buildings,  as  in  Fig.  32,  page  225  ; 
or  by  the  buttresses  of  the  Gothic 
cathedrals,  as  in  Fig.  33,  page  226; 
or  by  any  arrangements,  per- 
pendicular or  vertical,  that  add 
to   the  possibilities  and  presence 

of  shadows,  as  in  Fig.  34,  page  227.  fig.  32.-pavilion  of  riche- 
He  will  feel,  too,  the  impression 
of  a  certain  amount  of  structural 
weakness  conveyed  by  plain  walls,  such  as  appear  in  Fig. 
35,  page  229.  "  As  the  great  poem  and  the  great  picture," 
says  Ruskin,  in  his  "  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,"  "  gen- 
erally affect  us  most  by  the  majesty  of  their  masses  of 
light  and  shade,  .  .  .  I  do  not  believe  that  ever  any 
building  was  truly  great  unless  it  had  mighty  masses, 
vigorous  and  deep,  of  shadow  mingled  with  its  surfaces." 

In  the  arts  of  sound,  especially  in  poetry,  the  effectsof 
force  and  pitch  usually  go  together.  If,  in  a  poetic  foot,  we 
accent  one  syllable,  we  almost  invariably  give  it  a  differ- 
ent pitch  from  that  of  the  unaccented  syllable  following  it. 
There  is  the  same  connection  between  the  corresponding 


LIEU,  PARIS. 
See  pages  325,  341. 


126 


FIG.  33.— COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL— FACADE. 
See  pages  225,  251,  252,  261,279,  290.  293,   317.  34L 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH  OUTLINES. 


227 


elements  in  the  arts  of  sight.  When  we  give  more 
force  to  a  colour  in  painting  by  increasing  the  effects  of 
light  and  shade,  we  usually  change  the  kind,  or,  what  may 
be  termed  the  pitch,  of  the  colour;  and  though  certain 
buildings  and  statues  seem  to  be  devoid  of  colour,  we  can- 
not, except  by  using  many  different  kinds  of  it,  make  pic- 
tures which  will  re- 
produce with  abso- 
lute accuracy  such 
effects  as  have  just 
been  attributed  to 
relative  degrees  of 
massiveness  or  of  en- 
ergy of  touch.  The 
places  where  one 
colour  gives  way  to 
another  in  painting 
usually  seem  to  form 
lines  ;  and  the  places 
where  there  seem 
to  be  lines  in  sculp- 
ture and  architecture  often  separate  colours.  Let  us 
consider  what  conceptions  are  represented  by  the  different 
ways  in  which  different  masses  of  similar  colour,  or — what 
is  the  same  thing — different  shapes  are  separated  from 
one  another.  In  other  words,  let  us  consider  what  is  repre- 
sented by  the  different  general  directions  and  characters 
of  the  outlines  forming  contours. 

In  accordance  with  what  was  said  on  page  190,  the  best 
way  of  determining  this  is  to  start  by  considering  the 
principles  of  gesture.  Gesture  represents  thought  or  emo- 
tion through  using,  mainly,  the  hands.  But  the  hands 
are  connected  with  the  human  body  ;  and  we  cannot  fully 


FIG.  34.— CHURCH  OF  ST.  MARK,  VENICE. 
See  pages  126,  222,  225,  252,  279,  293. 


228  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

study  what  is  expressed  by  them,  without  going  back,  for 
a  moment,  to  ask  what  is  expressed  by  the  whole  body 
with  which  they  are  connected,  and  of  which  they  form  a 
part.  The  representative  characteristics  of  the  body  have 
been  unfolded,  at  length,  in  the  author's  "Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts."  Here, 
after  cautioning  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  few 
individual  forms  manifest  the  features  of  any  one  type 
exclusively,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  physiology  and  phrenology,  roundness  of  form  or 
feature,  i.  e.,  curvature,  represents  the  degree  of  vital  or 
physical  power  ;  that  sharpness,  i.  e.,  angularity,  represents 
the  degree  of  mental  or  interpretive  power;  and  that 
length  represents  the  degree  of  motive  or  emotive  power, 
i.  e.,  the  degree  of  that  self-control  or  of  lack  of  it  which 
is  sometimes  termed  moral  power.  For  instance,  men 
with  exceptionally  healthy  lungs  or  stomachs  usually 
have  large  cavities  in  which  they  are  placed;  artists  have 
noses  and  fingers — at  their  sides,  or  tips — that  may  be 
sharp  and  round,  or  sharp  and  long,  but  are  always  sharp; 
and  extremely  inflexible  and  scrupulous  people  are  usually 
lank  and  long.  If  we  separate  the  suggestions  of  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  body,  the  torso  seems  best  to  represent  the 
vital  or  physical ;  the  extremities,  especially  the  head  and 
hands,  to  represent  the  mental  or  interpretive,  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  hand-gesture  ;  and  the  chest,  shoulders,  el- 
bows, and  knees,  to  represent  the  motive  or  emotive,  as, 
for  instance,  when  one  is  excited  or  embarrassed.  Facial 
expression  seems  based  upon  the  principle  that  the  chin 
and  lower  lip  best  represent  the  vital  or  physical ;  the  eye- 
brows and  forehead  best  represent  the  mental  or  inter- 
pretive ;  and  the  nose  and  eyes  best  represent  the  motive 
or  emotive.     The  movements   of  these  features   to  repre- 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH    THE  BODY.        229 

sent   particular  conceptions  correspond,  when  the   head 
is  lifted  or  lowered  or  turned  sideways,  to  the  arms ;  and 


FIG.  35.— MARIEN  PLATZ,  MUNICH. 
See  page  225. 

when  the  countenance  is  contracted,  expanded,  or  drawn 
down,  to  the  hands. 

From    these   brief  suggestions   with    reference    to  the 


23O  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

representative  effects  of  the  different  parts  of  the  body 
as  a  whole,  let  us  turn  to  consider  the  gestures  formed  by 
the  hands.  We  may  begin  by  saying  that  there  are  three 
planes  on  which  the  stroke  of  a  gesture  may  be  made. 
One  is  on  a  level  with  the  breast,  which  is  the  seat  of  the 
motive  or  emotive  nature.  One  is  below  the  breast,  and 
one  is  above  it.  The  principle  underlying  the  phase  of 
thought  represented  by  the  hand,  when  carried  to  either 
of  the  three  planes,  is  as  follows  :  Every  one  inside  of  a 
body  feels  or  conceives  himself  to  be  at  the  centre  of  the 
universe,  which  the  horizon  rims,  the  earth  grounds,  and 
the  zenith  domes.  When  he  gestures,  he  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  give  expression  to  this  feeling.  His 
hands  are  carried  on  a  level  with  the  breast  to  represent 
what  he  conceives  to  be  on  a  physical,  and  hence,  by 
analogy,  a  mental  or  moral  level  with  himself.  They 
move  before  him  to  indicate  that  which  he  really  sees 
there,  or  to  refer  ideally  to  the  truth  or  hope  that  he  an- 
ticipates in  the  future.  They  move  behind\\\ra  to  indicate 
that  which  is  really  behind  him,  something  that  he  has 
abandoned  or  turned  from  possibly  with  loathing  or  re- 
gret ;  or  they  may  refer  ideally  to  a  condition  of  opinion 
and  life  beyond  which  he  has  progressed.  They  move  to 
one  side  to  refer  to  some  actual  physical  presence  there, 
or,  ideally,  if  the  hand  indicate  exclusion,  to  something 
that  is  a  side  issue  from  the  main  line  of  his  thought ; 
possibly  to  some  course  that  is  a  diversion  from  straight- 
forward action.  But  if  the  hand  do  not  indicate  exclu- 
sion, the  gesture  to  the  side  may  refer  to  the  general  and 
comprehensive.  The  hands  are  carried  below  the  breast 
to  represent  that  which  one  conceives  to  be  physically, 
mentally,  or  morally  below  himself ;  i.  e.,  below  his  sight, 
comprehension,  or  control ;  to  indicate  a  pathway,  an  idea 


232  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

that  he  can  understand,  a  power  that  he  can  master.  They 
are  carried  above  the  breast  to  represent  that  which  he 
conceives  to  be  physically,  mentally,  or  morally  above  him- 
self ;  above  his  sight,  comprehension,  or  control;  to  indi- 
cate a  star,  a  grand  idea,  a  mighty  force. 

In  applying  these  principles,  it  must  always  be  borne  in 
mind  that  the  different  directions  of  the  gesture  represent 
not  what  actually  is,  but  what  a  man  conceives  to  be. 
Most  of  the  published  discussions  of  this  subject  do  not 
sufficiently  emphasise  this  fact.  We  are  told,  for  in- 
stance, that  good  and  God  must  receive  upward  gestures, 
and  bad  and  the  Devil  downward  gestures.  But  this  de- 
pends entirely  upon  one's  point  of  view,  upon  one's  con- 
ception. The  expression,  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan," 
would  require  a  downward  and  backward  gesture,  because 
the  speaker  would  conceive  of  Satan  as  below  and  behind 
himself  morally  ;   but  the  expression — 

There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brooked 
The  Eternal  Devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome 
As  easily  as  a  king — 

Julius  Cizsar,  i.,  2  Shakespeare. 

would  require  an  upward  and  forward  gesture  ;  because 
in  it  Satan  is  conceived  of  as  a  foe  of  overwhelming  force, 
whom  one  is  facing,  therefore,  as  one  physically  above 
and  before  the  speaker,  and  not  by  any  means  below  or 
behind  him. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  shapes  assumed  by  the  hand  in 
the  place  where  the  gesture  is  struck.  There  may  be  said 
to  be  three  of  these  shapes,  namely,  that  of  the  fist,  of  the 
finger,  and  of  the  exposed  palm.  These  all  seem  to  inter- 
pret the  gesture  mentally  by  adding  significance  to  its 
mode  of  emphasis.     We  shall  find  that  they  represent, 


234  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

respectively,  vital  or  physical,  mental  or  interpretive,  and 
motive  or  emotive  emphasis. 

Of  the  truth  of  these  statements  there  can  be  no  doubt 
in  the  mind  of  one  who  thinks  of  them.  All  must  recoo-- 
nise  that  the  fist,  the  broadest,  roundest  form  that  the 
hand  can  assume,  represents,  as  nearly  as  any  shape  pos- 
sible for  it,  vital  and  physical  emphasis,  i.  e.,  will-power 
applied  to  the  impression  of  ideas.  Just  as  a  fist  threat- 
ens with  a  power  greater  than  one's  own,  if  held  above 
one's  head  ;  and  with  one's  own  power,  if  held  on  a  level 
with  one's  breast,  so  it  manifests  strength  of  conviction 
and  a  determination  to  pound  the  truth  into  an  oppo- 
nent, if  made  in  connection  with  a  downward  gesture  of 
emphasis. 

Equally  evident  is  the  meaning  of  the  pointing  finger. 
It  is  the  sharpest  form  that  the  hand  can  assume,  and, 
according  to  what  has  been  said,  should  represent  inter- 
pretive mentality.  This  it  undoubtedly  does.  When  we 
point  to  an  object,  we  do  so  not  as  an  exhibition  of  will 
or  emotion,  but  of  thought.  Nor  do  we  wish  others  to  do 
anything  beyond  concentrating  their  thought  upon  it. 
This  is  certainly  true  of  the  finger  gesture  wherever  used 
descriptively,  whether  it  point  downward  (see  two  figures 
in  Fig.  36,  page  231),  upward  (see  one  figure  in  Fig.  37, 
page  233),  or  to  one  side  (see  Fig.  38,  page  235).  This  is 
true  even  when  made  with  all  but  the  forefinger  clinched 
into  an  unmistakable  fist;  though  the  fist  causes  the 
gesture  to  stigmatise  and  denounce  with  a  decidedly  physi- 
cal and  forcible  effect.  When  used  as  a  gesture  of  empha- 
sis, too,  the  finger  is  interpretive.  It  directs  attention  to 
the  small,  delicate,  and  subtle  points  of  conceptions,  argu- 
ments, or  series  of  facts  upon  which  the  speaker  wishes 
to  concentrate  not  the  energies  or  emotions  of  himself, 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  GESTURES. 


OD 


or  his  audience,  but  their  powers  of  analytic  thought.  In 
Fig.  39,  below,  the  ringer  on  the  chin  indicates  that  the 
man  is  analysing  in  order  to  understand  exactly  what 
course  of  action  his  will — represented  by  his  chin — is  to 
choose  or  reject. 

Last  of  all,  we  have  the  gesture  with  the  fingers  and 
thumb  unfolded  from  the  palm,  and  displaying  all   their 


FIG.  38  -SIDEWARD  FINGER 

GESTURE. 

See  pages  234,-  237. 


FIG    39  —REFLECTION. 
See  pages  235,  241. 


length.  According  to  the  principles  on  page  228  this 
shape  ought  to  represent  the  motive  or  emotive  attitude. 
The  moment  that  we  examine  closely  the  way  in  which 
the  gesture  is  used,  we  cannot  doubt  that  this  is  precisely 
what  it  does  represent.  There  are  two  forms  of  it, 
namely,  the  closing,  in  which  the  palm  is  averted,  i.  c, 
turned  away  from  the  body,  where  the  speaker  cannot  see 
it,  as  in  Fig.  40,  page  236,  and  the  opening,  in  which  the  posi- 
tion is  reversed,  where  the  palm  is  held  so  that  the  speaker 
Can  see  it?  as   in  Fig.  41,  page  236.    The  closing  gesture 


236 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


seems  to  push  downward,  upward,  backward,  forward,  or 
sideward,  as  if  to  keep  all  external  things  or  thoughts 
from  touching  or  influencing  the  one  who  is  gesturing. 
It  seems  to  close  all  channels  of  communication  between 
him  and  the  outside  world.  Notice  how 
the  left  hand  of  the  Christ  in  Fig.  36, 
page  231  seems  to  separate  him  from  the 
woman  before  him.  The  opening  gesture 
seems  prepared  to  give  and  receive 
things  or  thoughts  from  every  quarter ; 
and  thus  to  open  these  channels.  Notice 
the  right  hand  of  the  Christ  in  the  same 
Fig.  36,  page  231.  Both  gestures,  there- 
fore, seem  to  represent  the  motive  or 
emotive  attitude.  To  extend  what  has 
been  said,  the  closing  gesture  being 
used  to  reject,  to  ward 
off,  to  deny,  what  is 
unpleasant,  threaten- 
ing, or  untruthful  (no- 
tice several  gestures  in  Fig.  37,  page.^g^'- 
233),  is  used  descriptively  to  refer  to  any- 
thing having  these  characteristics,  to 
anything,  therefore,  like  a  storm,  an  ava- 
lanche, a  disgusting  sight,  a  foe,  or  any 
supposed  source  of  plotting  or  hostility 
(see  Fig.  42,  page  237).  For  an  analogous 
reason,  as  applied  to  abstract  thought, 
this  gesture  is  used  by  one  who  is  in  a  fig.  41.— downward 

~,  1-1         .■  .        j-    .     .  OPENING  GESTURE. 

mood  to  dogmatise,  to  dictate,  or  to  ex-   _ 

See  pages  235,  238. 

press  any  conception,  concerning  which 

he    is    not    in    a    condition    to    receive  suggestions  from 

others.       It    indicates,   therefore,    everything  which    one 


FIG.  40.  — DOWNWARD 
CLOSING  GESTURE. 

See  page  235, 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH   GESTURES. 


237 


does  not  care  to  submit  to  others  as  an  open  question, 
a  question  left  for  them  to  decide.  In  accordance 
with  what  was  said  in  the  last  paragraph,  it  closes  the 
channel  of  influence,  as  exerted  by  others,  and  seems 
to  say,  simply  :  "  This  is  my  opinion.  I 
hold  it  irrespective  of  anything  that 
you  may  hold."  Derived  from  this 
expressional  use  of  the  gesture,  is  a 
secondary  descriptive  use  of  it,  according 
to  which  it  is  made  to  refer  to  anything 
which  the  mind  cannot  conceive  to  be 
an  open  question  for  others  to  think" 
of  as  they  choose,  therefore  to  any- 
thing which,  if  thought  of  at  all,  must 
be  thought  of  in  only  one  way.  Thus 
"  impending  fate,"  or  "  the  laws  control-    fig.  42.— balanced 

ling  the  universe,"  would  be  indicated  by    BAC(<ward  move- 
s' '  J     MENT  WITH  CLOSING 

high  closing  gestures.       Closing  gestures,  gesture. 

too,  would  be  used  when  referring  to  See  pages  236, 292. 
any  object  that  to  the  mind's  eye  has 
definite  outlines,  like  a  cliff,  or  a  house.  If  objects  like 
this  be  small,  the  finger  usually  points  to  them,  but  the 
youngest  child  never  points  with  the  palm  up  to  things 
that  have  definite  outlines.  The  palm  is  always  down. 
It  is  not  an  open  question  how  one  shall  conceive  of  a  par- 
ticular horse  or  dog;  and  so  the  closing  gesture  with  the 
index  finger  shuts  out  all  appeal.  The  mind  of  the 
speaker  cannot  be  satisfied  unless  the  hearer  conceives  of 
these  objects  just  as  he  does  (Fig.  38,  page  235). 

The  opening  gesture  indicates  exactly  the  opposite. 
Being  used  to  welcome  or  impart  what  is  pleasant,  inter- 
esting, or  important,  it  naturally  refers,  in  a  descriptive 
way,  to  any  thing  or  thought  having  these  characteristics, 


238 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


to  anything  conceived  of,  therefore,  as  being  freely  given 
(see  the  man  in  Fig.  43,  page  238),  or  received  like  a  gift  or 
purchase,  or  like  friendship,  joy,  knowledge,  prosperity, 
or  blessedness.  As  accompanying  an  expression  of  abstract 
thought,  this  gesture  is  in  place  whenever  one  submits  an 

opinion  as  an  open  ques- 
tion for  others  to  con- 
sider and  to  decide  as 
they  may  deem  fit.  It 
is  the  gesture,  there- 
fore, of  inquiry,  persua- 
sion, and  appeal  (Fig. 
41,  page  236).  "They 
should  be  put  to  death," 
uttered  with  the  closing 
gesture,  means :  "This 
is  my  opinion,  and  I 
hold  it  irrespective  of 
anything  that  you  may 
think  about  it.  "  The 
same  words,  uttered 
with  the  opening  gesture 
mean :  "  This  is  my 
opinion ;  do  you  not, 
should  you  not,  in  view 
of  all  the  arguments 
that  I  have  used,  agree 
See  pages  23S,  239,  243.  wjtn     me  ? "       Derived 

from  this  expressiohal  use  of  the  opening  gesture,  is 
a  secondary  descriptive  use  of  it,  causing  it  to  refer  to 
anything  of  a  doubtful  and  indefinite  nature,  which  it  is 
an  open  question  for  others  to  think  of  as  they  choose.  It 
would  be  used  in  mentioning  a  "  smiling  country"  and  a 


FIG- 43.- PROPOSITION  OF  MARRIAGE. 
D-  CHODOWECKI. 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  GESTURES.        239 


"sunny  landscape."  In  conceiving  of  these,  the  speaker 
does  not  have  in  mind,  nor  does  he  wish  the  hearer  to 
have  in  mind,  any  fixed  or  definite  object.  Imagination 
can  fill  in  the  outlines  as  it  chooses,  and  the  gesture  in- 
dicates this  fact.  So  "  liberty,"  "  progress,"  and  "  blessed- 
ness "  receive  the  high  opeiiing  gesture,  partly  because 
they  are  always  welcome,  yet  partly,  too,  because  the  re- 
sults of  them  may  manifest  any  one  of  a  thousand  different 
effects,  which  the  mind  of  the  listener  is  left  free  to  conjure 

according     to    his     fancy 

(Fig.  44,  page  239).     The 

benediction  after  religious 

services  in  church,  as  given 

with    the   closing  gesture, 

corresponding  to  the    po- 
sition in  Fig.  45,  page  239, 

is    ritualistic.     It    imparts 

constraining     grace.       As 

given    with    the     opening 

gesture,  corresponding  to 

the    position     in    Fig.  44, 

page  239,  it  is  evangelical. 

It   solicits   inspiring  grace. 

So  the  hand  of  the  wo- 
man accepting  the  offer  of 
marriage  in  Fig.  43,  page  238,  not  only  indicates  embar- 
rassment through  angularity  of  elbow  and  wrist ;  it  also 
imparts,  without  intention,  the  information  that  she  is  the 
one  who  will  not  yield,  but  will  rule  and  dictate  when  the 
wedding  has  been  consummated.  The  pointing  finger, 
too,  when  the  palm  is  in  the  position  of  an  opening  ges- 
ture, does  not  mean  the  same  as  when  it  is  in  the  position 
of  the  closing  gesture.     In  the  former  case  it  does  not 


fig.  44.— UPWARD 

OPENING  GESTURE. 
See  pages  239,  243 


FIG.  45.— UPWARD 

CLOSING  GESTURE. 

See  pages  239,  242 

292. 


24O  THE   1  SSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 

point  merely  to  definite  objects;  it  points  to  open  pos- 
sibilities. What  is  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  first 
man  at  the  left  of  the  Christ  in  Fig.  36,  page  231,  is  to  ask 
a  question,  "  What  shall  be  done  in  view  of  that  to  which 
I  point?"  What  is  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  man 
pointing  upward  at  the  right  of  Fig.  37,  page  233,  is  to  in- 
dicate a  source  from  which  one  can  receive  inspiration  ; 
and  he  is  beckoning — asking  others  to  consider  it.  The 
motive  is  thus  that  of  the  opening  gesture. 

A  few  sentences  more  will  embody  all  that  needs  to  be 
added  with  reference  to  the  meanings  of  the  movements 
of  the  hand  while  being  conveyed  by  the  arm  to  the  place 
towards  which  the  gesture  is  aimed.  All  these  move- 
ments, of  course,  as  follows  from  what  has  been  said, 
whether  suggesting  forms  of  curves,  straight  lines,  or 
angles,  give  expression,  in  a  general  way,  to  the  motive 
or  emotive  nature  ;  the  degrees  of  vitality  entering  into 
this  being  best  indicated  by  the  action  of  the  shoulders; 
the  degrees  of  interpretive  intent,  by  the  adjustments  of 
the  wrist  and  the  hand  and  fingers  below  it  ;  and  the 
degrees  of  the  operating  motive  pure  and  simple  by  the 
action  of  the  elbows.  Notice  that  a  hint  is  usually  con- 
veyed by  their  nudge. 

These  movements,  moreover,  by  which  arc  meant  now, 
those  that  are  preparatory  to  the  gesture,  irrespective  of 
the  place  to  which  the  hand  is  conveyed,  may  be  made 
with  a  general  direction  away  from  the  body,  toward  the 
body,  or  both  away  from  it  and  also  toward  it.  When 
used  descriptively,  they  refer,  respectively,  to  other  things 
than  self,  to  self,  or  to  both  ;  i.  i\,  to  the  relations  between 
other  things  and  self.  Used  mainly  for  emphasis,  the 
hands,  when  moving  away  from  the  body,  represent  a  full, 
unembarrassed,  and,  in  this  sense,  instinctive  expression 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  GESTURES 


24I 


of  the  actuating  motive.  They  indicate,  like  the  falling 
inflection  of  the  voice,  that  the  mind  has  come  to  a  posi- 
tive and  decisive  conclusion.  When  the  hands  move  to- 
ward the  body,  the  gestures  are  reflective  ;  they  represent 
something  in  thought  that  checks  the  expression  of  the 
motive,  something  physical  in  phase,  if  they  end  near  the 
abdomen  (Fig.  46,  page  241),  mental  if  near  the  head  (Fig. 
39,  page  235),  and  emotional  or  moral  if  near  the  heart 
(Fig.  36,  page  231);  they  indicate,  like  the  rising  inflec- 


FIG.  46.— AN  ATTACK 
See  pages  241,  243. 


FIG.  47.— BOY  SURPRISED. 
See  pages  241,  242,  243. 


tion  of  the  voice,  that  the  mind  is  thinking,  but  has  come 
to  no  conclusion  ;  that  it  is  asking  a  question  ;  that  it  is 
influenced  by  doubt,  perhaps,  or  surprise  (notice  the  re- 
presentation of  this  in  Fig!  47,  page  241) ;  the  mood  is,  at 
least,  anticipative  and  indecisive.  When  the  hands  move 
both  from  the  body  and  also  toward  it  as  in  Fig.  47,  or, 
as  is  the  case  in  the  most  common  emphatic  oratorical 
gesture,  both  toward  it  and  from  it,  they  represent  a  com- 
bination of  the  two  conceptions  already  mentioned. 
The  effect  then  is  exactly  parallel  to  that  of  the  double 
16 


242  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

meaning  in  the  circumflex  inflection  (see  the  author's 
"  Orator's  Manual,"  pp.  56  to  59).  If  the  gestures  begin 
with  the  movement  toward  the  body,  this  indicates  that 
the  man  has  asked  a  question  ;  and  if  they  end  with  the 
movement  away  from  it,  that  then  in  his  own  mind,  as  a 
result  of  deliberate  and  careful  consideration  of  arguments 
pro  and  con,  he  has  answered  the  question.  The  first 
direction  shows  that  there  has  been  indecision,  the  second 
that  he  has  come  to  a  conclusion  ;  the  first  that  he  has 
investigated,  the  second  that  he  has  reached  a  definite 
result.  The  suggestion  of  both  facts  in  this  gesture  causes 
it  to  convey  an  impression  of  breadth  of  thought  as  well 
as  of  intensity. 

If  the  order  of  the  movements  be  reversed,  as  often  in 
dramatic  gestures  (Fig.  47,  page  241),  of  course  their 
meaning  is  reversed.  But  whatever  be  their  order,  it  is 
evident  that  movements  preparatory  to  starting  the  final 
stroke  of  a  gesture,  in  the  degree  in  which  they  are  con- 
tinued through  a  long  time  or  cover  a  large  space,  enhance 
the  representative  effect,  inasmuch  as  they  indicate  thus 
the  degree  in  which  the  mind  has  reached  the  opinions 
which  it  expresses  as  a  result  of  weighing  the  possibilities 
both  in  favour  of  them  and  against  them. 

So  much  with  reference  to  the  direction  of  the  move- 
ments. A  few  words  more  now  with  reference  to  their 
character.  Concerning  this  a  little  observation  will  reveal 
that  movements  which  are  spontaneous  and  unconscious, 
because  uninfluenced  or  unimpeded  by  interruptions  that 
come  from  without,  all  tend  to  assume  the  forms  of  free, 
large,  graceful  curves.  See  Figs.  9,  page  97;  23,  page  170; 
26,  page  217  ;45,  page  239;  54,  page  289.  But  in  the  degree 
in  which  a  man's  expression  is  a  result  of  mental  calcula- 
tion, made  to  meet  emergencies  from  without,  especially 


MEANINGS  OF  OUTLINES.  243 

in  the  degree  in  which  these  conditions  check,  impede,  and 
embarrass  him,  and  make  him  conscious  of  this  fact,  or 
self-conscious,  as  we  say, — his  bearing  is  stiff,  constrained, 
and  awkward,  imparting  to  all  his  movements  a  tendency 
to  assume  the  forms  of  straight  lines  and  angles.  See  the 
woman  in  Fig.  43,  page  238 ;  also  the  positions  in  Fig.  37, 
page  233.  But  sharp  angles  and  short  curves  will  give  way 
to  straighter  lines  and  longer  curves  in  the  degree  in 
which  outside  conditions  do  not  wholly  overcome  one's 
spontaneity,  as  in  exerting  the  moral  influence  of  confi- 
dent assertion  (Fig.  23,  page  170),  or  enthusiastic  persua. 
sion  (Fig.  44,  page  239).  But  in  the  degree  in  which  he  is 
conscious  of  opposition,  whether  this  be  mental,  as  in 
Fig.  18,  page  122,  or  material,  as  in  Fig.  47,  page  241,  or 
both  together,  as  in  the  two  figures  at  the  front  of  Fig. 
37,  page  233,  or  as  in  fighting  (Fig.  46,  page  241),  this  con- 
sciousness will  double  up  his  frame  and  throw  his  neck, 
elbows,  knees,  and  hips  into  shapes  that  will  make  his 
form  the  best  possible  representation  of  what  can  be 
described  by  only  the  term  angularity  ;  yet  from  this  ap- 
pearance in  such  cases  curves  are  never  entirely  absent. 

So  much  for  the  meanings  of  outlines,  whether  pro- 
duced by  the  hand  or  assumed  by  the  body.  Now  let  us 
notice  their  meanings  as  manifested  not  in  the  human 
form  but  in  the  inanimate  appearances  of  nature  surround- 
ing it.  The  curve  has  been  ascribed  to  the  physically 
normal  action  of  the  human  form.  Is  there  any  truth  in 
the  supposition  that  the  same  in  natural  scenery  may  be 
ascribed  to  physically  normal  action  ?  Why  should  there 
not  be?  The  eye  itself  is  circular,  and  the  field  of  vision 
which  it  views,  at  any  one  moment,  always  appears  to  be 
circular.  So  does  the  horizon  and  the  zenith,  and  so,  too, 
do  most  of  the  objects  that  they  contain — the  heaving 


244  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

hill,  the  rising  smoke  or  vapour,  the  rolling  wave,  the  gush- 
ing  fountain,  the  rippling  stream,  even  the  bubbles  of  its 
water  and  the  pebbles  of  its  channel,  and  every  tree,  plant, 
and  animal,  whether  at  rest  or  in  motion.  For  this  reason, 
curves,  wherever  seen,  necessarily  suggest  more  or  less  of 
that  which  is  normal.  See  the  forms  at  the  right  of  Fig. 
48,  page  245. 

The  straight  line  with  its  accompanying  angles  we  have 
found  to  be  produced  by  a  man  chiefly  as  a  result  of  men- 
tal action.  How  is  it  with  similar  effects  in  the  appear- 
ances surrounding  him  ?  Do  not  rectangles  with  their 
straight,  parallel  sides  and  necessitated  angles,  as  in  build- 
ings and  in  so  many  other  objects  made  by  a  man,  invari- 
ably suggest  results  of  his  constructive,  and,  therefore,  of 
his  mental  action  ?  Nor  are  such  suggestions  confined 
to  objects  revealing  that  a  man  has  really  interfered 
with  the  action  of  nature.  By  way  of  association,  the 
horizontal  hilltop,  the  sharply  perpendicular  cliff,  the 
pointed  peak,  cause  us  to  think  and  often  to  say  that  they 
look  precisely  as  if  a  man  had  been  at  work  upon  them, 
levelling  or  blasting.  Few  natural  objects  have  outlines 
absolutely  straight  or  angular.  For  this  reason,  in  the 
degree  in  which  they  are  so,  the  impression  naturally 
produced  by  curves,  which  is  that  of  a  growth  outward 
from  normal  vitality  within,  is  lessened.  We  feel  that 
life  has  in  some  way  been  literally  blasted.  See  the  forms 
at  the  left  of  Fig.  48,  page  245.  As  a  rule,  it  is  the  great 
convulsions  of  nature,  whether  produced  by  fire,  frost, 
wind,  or  earthquake,  that  leave  behind  them,  if  their  pro- 
gress can  be  traced  at  all,  such  results  of  crystallising, 
cracking,  and  rending  as  are  manifested  in  outlines  of  this 
character.  Again,  when  lines  drawn  by  men  are  broken, 
and  also   curved    and    crossed,   they   necessarily   suggest 


o    N 

1-      <n 


246  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

the  complex.  Because  complex,  they  are  perplexing ; 
and  provided  they  be  nevertheless  disposed  in  such  ways  as 
to  render  the  fact  of  some  design  indisputable,  they  are 
exciting,  as  far  as  lines  can  be,  to  the  imagination,  con- 
stantly stimulating  it,  as  they  do,  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
their  mode  of  arrangement.  Such  being  their  effects, 
one  would  expect  to  find  the  natural  forms  characterised 
by  them  proving  more  exciting  to  the  emotions  than  those 
already  considered.  And  when  we  examine  the  appear- 
ances about  us,  is  not  this  exactly  what  we  do  find  ?  Is 
it  not  when  complicated  curves  and  angles  outline  natural 
trifles  that  they  fascinate  and  make  men  imitate  them  in 
their  curios?  Is  it  not  when  curves,  straight  lines,  and 
angles  join  in  natural  forms  of  grander  import,  when  the 
tree  and  bush  are  wreathed  about  the  precipice,  when 
the  dome-like  mountain  and  the  rolling  cloud  lift  above 
the  sharp  peak  and  the  cloven  crag,  and  far  below  them 
lies  the  flat  plain  or  the  lake, — is  it  not  then,  in  connection 
with  such  combinations,  that  the  most  exciting  appeal  is 
made  through  the  emotions  to  the  imagination  ?  See  Fig. 
48,  page  245. 

A  good  way,  perhaps,  of  discovering  the  representative 
capabilities  of  these  different  appearances,  is  to  recall  the 
use  that  is  made  of  them  by  the  landscape  gardener.  Is 
it  not  a  fact,  in  case  he  desire  to  direct  attention  to 
the  beauty  of  nature  in  itself,  i.  e.,  to  the  capabilities  of 
nature  with  the  least  possible  suggestion  of  the  interven- 
tion of  a  human  mind, — that  in  this  case  his  plans  will 
develop  into  gradually  rising  mounds  and  circuitous 
drives,  winding  among  trees  and  shrubs  planted  in  clus- 
ters but  not  in  rows?  On  the  contrary,  if  he  desire  to 
produce  a  distinctly  different  impression,  causing  thought 
to  revert  from  nature  to  man,  either  to  the  artist  who  has 


Q       0) 

<     C/3 


248  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

arranged  things  as  they  are,  or  to  the  resident  or  visitor 
for  whose  convenience  or  guidance  they  have  been  so 
arranged,  then  will  he  not  plan  for  distinctly  different 
effects,  as  in  the  long  avenue  bordered  with  its  rows  of 
trees,  or  in  the  terrace,  or  the  hedge,  or  the  flower  garden 
with  straight  and  rectangular  pathways?  Or,  once  more, 
if  he  desire  to  produce  more  emotional  impressions  by 
means  of  which  the  observers  may  be  drawn  more  into 
sympathy  with  his  designs  and  the  ingenuity  of  them, 
will  he  not  make  more  use  of  variety  and  contrast,  com- 
bining the  winding  walks  of  the  ramble  with  sharp  angles, 
perpendicular  rocks  with  rounded  moss  banks,  or  shooting 
cataracts  with  still  pools? 

Is  it  strange  that  similar  principles  should  apply  to 
painting  and  sculpture  ?  Charles  Blanc,  in  his  "  Grammar 
of  Painting  and  Engraving,"  translated  by  K.  N.  Doggett, 
says :  "  In  the  choice  of  the  great  lines,  a  certain  character 
should  be  dominant.  .  .  .  Straight  or  curved,  hori- 
zontal or  vertical,  parallel  or  divergent,  all  the  lines  have 
a  secret  relation  to  the  sentiment."  John  Ruskin,  too, 
recalling  several  instances  in  which  prominent  features  of 
certain  of  Turner's  pictures  are  arranged  along  a  frame- 
work of  curved  lines,  speaks  of  these  as  being  the  ones 
most  frequently  found  in  nature.  "  In  the  spectacles  of 
the  world,"  says  Charles  Blanc,  in  the  work  just  quoted, 
"as  in  the  human  figure,  in  painting,  or  in  architecture, 
the  straight  lines  correspond  to  a  sentiment  of  austerity 
and  force,  and  give  to  a  composition  in  which  they  are  re- 
peated, a  grave,  imposing,  rigid  aspect."  (See  Fig.  49, 
page  247.)  "  Witness  '  The  Testament  of  Eudamidas.'  In 
it,  Poussin  has  repeated  the  horizontal  lines.  Lying  upon 
his  death-bed  the  citizen  of  Corinth  forms  the  dominant 
line  of  the  arrangement.     The  lance  of  the  hero  repeats 


u.    q 


250  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

this  line,  and,  prostrate  like  him,  seems  condemned  to  the 
repose  of  his  master,  and  to  affirm  a  second  time  his 
death."  Again  referring  to  the  vertical  lines,  he  says: 
"  Look  now  at  '  The  Life  of  Saint  Bruno,'  by  Lesueur. 
.  .  .  The  solemnity  of  the  religious  sentiment,  which  is 
an  ascending  aspiration,  is  expressed  in  it  by  the  dominant 
repetition  and  parallelism  of  the  verticals."  Once  more, 
in  language  applying  accurately  to  only  what  we  have 
here  termed  mixed  lines,  consisting  of  both  curves  and 
angles,  though  often  angularity  alone  is  attributed  to 
them,  he  says  :  "  If  it  be  necessary  to  represent  a  terrible 
idea, — for  instance  th^t  of  the  last  judgment,  .  .  . 
such  subjects  demand  lines  vehement,  impetuous,  and 
moving.  Michael  Angelo  covers  the  wall  of  the  Sistine 
chapel  with  contrasting  and  flamboyant  lines.  Poussin 
torments  and  twists  his  in  the  pictures  of  '  Pyrrhus  Saved  ' 
and  '  The  Sabines,'  and  the  linear  modes  employed  by 
these  masters  are  examples  of  the  law  to  be  followed." 

"  In  the  ancient  Greek  sculptures,"  says  Long  in  his 
"Art,  its  Laws  and  the  Reasons  for  Them,"  "a  corre- 
spondence between  the  disposition  of  the  figure  and  the 
sentiment  of  the  subject  will  always  be  found,  .  . 
Minerva's  position  being  perpendicular  and  her  drapery 
descending  in  long  uninterrupted  lines,  while  a  thousand 
amorous  curves  embrace  the  limbs  of  Flora  and  Venus; — 
the  plain,  the  simple,  the  dignified,  and  the  intellectual 
being  the  sentiment  of  the  one  ;  the  light,  the  gay,  and  the 
sensual  the  sentiment  of  the  other.  And  if  the  sentiment 
which  animates  them  be  of  a  very  exciting  and  passion- 
ate character,  the  movements  become  more  quick,  and  the 
forms  more  angularised."  (See  Fig.  50,  page  249.)  "  It 
is  in  obedience  to  this  principle,"  he  goes  on  to  say,  "  that 
Raphael  acted  when,  in  his  cartoon  of  '  The  Delivery  of 


Representation  through  outlines.       251 

the  Keys  to  St.  Peter,'  he  employed,  as  did  the  sculptor  of 
Minerva,  the  influence  of  simple  forms,"  i.  e.,  simple  as 
distinguished  from  mixed,  "to  express  and  produce  the 
sentiment  of  the  character  introduced  and  the  natural  ef- 
fects of  that  scene;  and  the  same,  too,  in  the  'Ananias' 
[see  Fig.  57,  page  233]  among  the  figures  distributing  and 
receiving  alms,  whilst,  in  obedience  to  this  rule,  he  has  re- 
sorted to  the  adverse  system  of  angular  forms  and  abrupt 
contrasts,"  i.  e.,  to  mixed  lines,  curved  and  straight,  "  to 
portray  distress  and  convulsion  in  the  dying  man,  and  as- 
tonishment and  dismay  in  the  figures  that  immediately 
surround  him." 

Simple  imitation,  even  aside  from  any  desire  to  repre- 
sent, will  usually  cause  a  close  observer  to  regard  these 
principles  when  depicting  natural  scenery  or  human  fig- 
ures ;  but  they  are  equally  applicable  when  constructing 
buildings.  The  most  ordinarily  accepted  classification 
made  of  the  different  styles  of  these  is  according  to  their 
bridging  of  openings  or  spaces  by  straight  lines,  curves,  or 
angles,  which  three  methods  are  supposed  to  indicate  the 
differences  between  the  architecture  of  the  Greek  hori- 
zontal entablature,  of  the  Byzantine  or  Romanesque  round 
arch,  and  of  the  Gothic  pointed  arch.  But  notice  that 
straight  lines  abound  in  all  these  forms,  the  horizontal 
ones  in  Greek  architecture  (Fig.  28,  page  219)  being  no 
more  prominent  than  the  vertical  ones  in  Gothic  archi- 
tecture (Fig.  33,  page  226).  It  is  well  to  observe,  however, 
that  of  all  architecture  appealing  to  the  emotions  the  latter 
does  this  in  the  most  powerfully  effective  way.  The  reason 
for  this,  not  often  noticed,  is  that  in  the  Gothic  alone  is  it 
possible  to  blend  all  the  possibilities  of  outline.  Some- 
times there  are  no  apparently  curved  forms  at  all  in  Greek 
buildings  (see  Fig.  28,  page  219).     Sometimes,  too,  there 


252  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

are  no  sharp  forms  in  Byzantine  or  the  allied  Romanesque 
buildings  (see  Fig.  34,  page  227).  But  in  Gothic  buildings 
there  is  invariably  a  blending  of  both.  Moreover,  as  if 
also  to  emphasise  the  existence  of  both,  each  form  is  de- 
veloped to  excess,  the  curves  being  made  particularly 
round  and  the  angles  particularly  sharp  (see  Fig  j3,  page 
226).  Now,  to  apply  the  principles  that  we  have  been  con- 
sidering: if,  in  architecture,  the  predominating  lines  be 
horizontal,  is  it  not  true  that,  combined  with  the  serious- 
ness and  dignity  suggested  by  straight  lines;  they  also 
represent  repose  ?  (See  Fig.  28,  page  219,  and  Fig.  2 1 ,  page 
127.)  Is  it  not  true,  also,  that  curved  architectural  forms 
represent  that  which  is  simple  and  graceful,  because  nat- 
ural? The  stone  arch  and  the  arching  ceiling  certainly 
may  remind  us  of  natural  methods  of  support  in  a  sense 
not  true  of  objects  wholly  flat  or  angular;  nor  are  many 
constructions  natural  to  beasts,  birds,  or  insects,  of  the 
latter  character.  Is  it  not  true,  too,  that  when  the  curve 
in  ceiling  or  dome  is  used  in  connection  with  straight  lines 
that  emphasise  verticality,  we  have  suggestions,  combined 
with  seriousness  and  dignity  of  effect,  of  that  highest  phase 
of  grace  represented  in  elevation  and  aspiration  of  soul? 
See  Fig.  51,  page  266,  and  Fig.  79,  page  354.  Finally 
when  we  look  at  a  Gothic  building  in  which,  as  in  Fig.  33, 
page  226,  curves,  angles,  and  straight  lines  are  used  in  ex- 
cess of  what  are  needed,  and  many  are  shaped  alike  evi- 
dently for  the  purpose  of  ornament  alone,  and  to  enhance, 
by  way  of  correspondence,  the  appearance  of  artistic  unity, 
then  is  it  not  true  that  the  forms  represent  a  special  appeal 
to  the  aesthetic  emotions.  "  See  how  Sir  Walter  Scott," 
says  Ruskin  in  his  "Lectures  on  Architecture  and  Art," 
"  cannot  even  get  through  a  description  of  Highland  scen- 
ery without  helps  from  the  idea: 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH   COLOUR.  253 

'  Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire.' 

That  strange  and  thrilling  interest  with  which  such  words 
strike  you  as  are  in  any  wise  connected  with  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, as,  for  instance,  vault,  arch,  spire,  pinnacle, 
battlement,  porch,  and  myriads  of  such  others — words 
everlastingly  poetical  and  powerful  wherever  they  occur, — 
is  a  most  true  and  certain  index  that  the  things  themselves 
are  delightful  to  you,  and  will  ever  continue  to  be  so." 

For  the  reason  suggested  on  page  214  that  which,  in 
the  arts  of  sight,  corresponds  to  quality  in  the  arts  of 
sound,  is  undoubtedly  colour,  interpreted  in  that  broad 
sense  in  which  it  includes  not  only  the  hues  used  in  paint- 
ing, but  the  white  or  neutral  tints  characterising  the 
effects  of  statues  or  buildings.  Let  us  notice  now  the  re- 
presentative possibilities  of  colour.  We  can  best  come  to 
understand  these  by  considering  what  colour  represents 
in  extreme  cases.  When  there  is  no  light  there  is  no 
colour.  When  there  is  little  light,  we  can  see  forms,  but 
not  colours,  except  as  they  seem  to  be  very  dim  and  dark. 
In  this  condition,  the  mind  is  not  greatly  interested  in 
them  nor  aroused  to  thought  by  them  ;  so  far  as  they 
affect  the  appearance  of  nature,  they  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
satisfactory,  interesting,  cheering,  or  inspiring,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  they  sometimes  cause  depression  and  even 
solicitude.  With  more  light,  however,  the  outlines  and 
colours  become  more  visible,  bright,  and  varied  ;  and  not 
only  the  satisfaction  but  the  excitation  derivable  from 
them  is  increased?  These  effects  continue  to  be  en- 
hanced up  to  the  time,  if  it  ever  arrive,  when  the  colours 
are  no  longer  distinguishable,  for  the  reason  that  the  light 
has  become  too  dazzling.  But  at  this  point  the  disa- 
greeableness    of    the    effect    is    produced,    not    because 


254  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

attention  is  aroused  too  slightly,  but  too  greatly,  as,  for 
instance,  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  or  by  a  flash  of 
lightning.  In  all  cases,  however,  even  in  these  last,  no- 
tice the  additional  excitation  to  the  emotions  produced 
by  variety.  Sunlight  or  lightning  is  never  so  vivid  as 
when  made  to  contrast  sharply  with  absolute  darkness,  as 
in  a  cave  or  a  cloud.  Nor  is  a  bright  red  or  yellow 
ever  so  effective  as  when  placed  directly  against  a  dull 
blue-green  or  indigo.  We  may  say,  therefore,  that,  as  a 
rule,  dark  colours  or  shades  of  them  which  result  when 
the  colours,  as  determined  by  the  spectrum,  are  mixed 
with  black,  as  also  unvarying  colours,  are  less  exciting  to 
the  emotions  than  bright  and  varied  ones. 

Before  illustrating  these  statements,  let  us  notice  an- 
other fact.  When,  in  a  screen  shutting  out  the  light  from 
a  darkened  room,  we  make  a  narrow  slit,  and  through 
this  allow  the  light  to  enter,  and,  receiving  this  light  on  a 
prism,  separate  the  one  ray  of  light  into  various  partial 
rays  of  the  same,  all  the  colours  of  the  spectrum  will  ap- 
pear, placed  one  after  another,  on  a  white  wall  opposite 
the  window.  But  the  red  colour  will  appear  nearest  the 
place  on  which  the  white  light  would  have  fallen,  had  we 
used  no  prism,  and,  fa/ther  and  farther  from  this  place,  will 
appear,  respectively  in  this  order,  orange,  yellow,  green, 
blue,  and  bluish  purple.  For  this  reason  the  first  three  of 
these  colours — red,  orange,  and  yellow, — because,  as  some 
say,  more  nearly  allied  to  light  as  well  as  to  the  fire  and 
heat  naturally  associated  with  the  source  of  light,  are 
termed  bright  or  warm  ;  and  the  last  three — green,  blue, 
and  purple — are  termed  dark  or  cold.  The  use  of  the 
terms  bright  and  dark  shows  the  close  connection  between 
light  and  darkness  as  influencing  not  only  the  degrees 
of  colour,  of  which  mention  was   made  in  the  preceding 


Meanings  of  colours.  2$$ 

paragraph,  but  also  the  kinds  of  colour;  and  the  use 
of  the  terms  warm  and  cold  show  the  subtle  connection 
between  the  effects  of  temperature  and  of  colour  of  which 
mention  was  made  on  page  214. 

For  the  purpose  not  merely  of  indicating  the  unity  of 
method  in  different  parts  of  this  system,  but  also  for  the 
purpose  of  accomplishing  that  for  which  this  unity  of 
method  is  intended  to  be  serviceable,  it  seems  well  in  this 
place  to  try  to  interpret  the  meanings  of  the  colours 
through  what  we  know  (see  pages  205  and  206)  of  the 
meanings  of  the  different  elocutionary,  musical,  or  poetic 
tones.  Of  these  tones,  the  normal  and  orotund  are  musi- 
cal and  unmixed.  It  will  be  shown  presently  that  the 
two,  respectively,  correspond  to  the  cold  and  the  warm 
colours.  The  aspirate — i.e.,  the  whisper — is  an  absence 
of  tone.  This  seems  to  correspond,  when  unpleasant  in 
its  effects,  to  an  absence  of  colour  as  in  black,  and,  when 
pleasant,  to  its  absence  as  in  white.  The  pectoral  and 
guttural  tones  are  always  mixed,  sometimes  with  different 
qualities  of  musical  tone,  and  always  with  more  or  less  of 
the  hostile  aspirate.  For  reasons  to  be  given  presently,  this 
fact  is  sufficient  to  suggest  a  correspondence  between  the 
pectoral  and  the  cold  colours  when  mixed  with  black,  and 
between  the  guttural  and  the  warm  colours  when  mixed 
with  black. 

We  will  take  up,  first,  the  distinction  between  the 
norjnal — sometimes  called  the  pure — tone  and  the  oro- 
tund. In  elocution,  the  former  is  not  necessarily  a  culti- 
vated tone,  but  the  latter,  the  orotund,  is.  The  former 
therefore  suggests  the  natural,  and  the  latter  the  artistic. 
Is  not  the  same  true  with  reference  to  the  classes  of  colour 
to  which  these  have  been  said  to  correspond?  Just  as 
the  normal  tone  is  that  of  ordinary  natural   intercourse, 


256  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

are  not  the  cold  colours,  the  greens,  blues,  and  purples, 
those  of  ordinary  natural  life  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  for 
nine-tenths  of  all  the  time,  nine-tenths  of  all  the  surfaces 
of  the  globe — i.  e.,  the  lakes,  skies,  hills,  forests,  fields, 
rocks,  distant  and  near — are  robed  in  these  colours?  The 
warmer  colours,  the  reds,  oranges,  and  yellows,  appear  oc- 
casionally in  nature  in  the  sunset  sky,  the  autumn  foliage, 
the  hues  of  flowers,  the  plumage  of  birds,  and  the  coating 
of  animals  ;  but  it  is  remarkable  how  seldom  they  appear 
at  all,  how  little  surface,  comparatively,  they  cover  when 
they  do  appear,  how  infrequently  they  appear  in  their 
full  intensity,  and  how  universally,  when  they  do  appear 
in  this,  they  are  considered  exceptional  and  worthy  of 
remark.  They  certainly  are  not  nature's  normal  colours. 
Man  cannot  dye  anything  bluer  or  greener  than  he  can 
often  see  in  the  sea  and  sky  and  forest ;  but  nowhere 
in  the  world  can  he  raise  a  red  or  orange  flag  that  will 
not  instantly  be  recognised  as  something  different  from 
anything  in  nature,  and,  therefore,  as  something  that  is 
signalling  the  presence  of  man.  Hence  the  use  of  these 
colours,  especially  of  red,  by  surveying  parties,  and  on 
railways,  piers,  and  battle-fields.  Such  colours  are  the 
ones  that  are  most  suggestive  of  human  interference.  As 
used  in  art,  therefore,  they  are  the  colours  representing 
the  condition  upon  which  the  thought  and  feeling  of  the 
artist  have  had  the  greatest  influence, 

With  these  facts,  however,  we  need  also  to  bear  in  mind 
that  which  is  a  logical  inference  from  what  was  said  on 
page  254,  namely,  that  all  very  low  and  uniform  shades, 
even  if  of  yellows,  oranges,  and  reds,  have  a  quieting 
effect,  and  all  very  high  and — because  contrasts  emphasise 
one  another,  and  most  contrasts  of  cold  colours  are  warm1 

1  Red  or  orange  of  green  or  blue.      See  pages  283  and  370. 


MEANINGS   OF  COLOURS.  2 $7 

— all  contrasting  tints,  even  if  of  purples,  blues,  and 
greens,  have  an  exciting  effect.  To  compare  these  con- 
ditions with  those  of  pitch  in  elocution  and  music,  this,  if 
low  and  monotonous,  indicates  what  is  serious,  grave, 
dignified,  and  self-controlled,  and,  if  high  and  varied,  the 
opposite.  Does  it  require  an  argument  to  show  how  per- 
fectly these  analogies  are  carried  out  as  applied  to  colours? 
Do  we  not  all  recognise  the  more  exciting  and  exhilarating 
effects  of  these  when  full  of  brightness,  and  also,  in  con- 
nection with  this,  of  contrast?  Who  has  not  noticed  the 
difference  in  influence  between  a  lawn  and  a  flower-bed? 
or  between  a  room  decorated  with  evergreens  and  the 
same  decorated  with  chrysanthemums?  or  between  a  uni- 
formly clouded  gray  sky,  and  a  sky  lighted  up  with  the 
diversified  glories  of  tne  sunset  r  or  between  the  dulness 
and  monotony  of  a  business  street  when  the  shop-entrances 
are  hung  with  dingy  clothing  for  sale,  or  the  sidewalks 
filled  with  people  in  dark  business  suits,  and  the  same 
streets  when  hung  with  bright  and  varied  flags  on  a  gala 
day,  or  crowded  with  throngs  decked  out  in  the  gay  and 
checkered  trappings  of  a  carnival  or  holiday  parade?  Of 
course,  uniformity  of  colour,  like  uniformity  of  outline — as 
in  parallelism, — produces  a  certain  seriousness  and  dignity 
of  effect :  and  any  procession,  the  members  of  which  are 
dressed  alike  and  march  alike,  will  produce  something  of 
these  irrespective  of  the  quality  of  the  colouring.  But 
there  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  degree  of  serious- 
ness and  dignity  in  the  effect  of  a  procession  of  priests 
and  nuns  robed  in  black  or  gray  in  a  funeral  or  at  church, 
and  in  that  of  militia  uniformed  in  bright  colours  on  a  holi- 
day or  in  a  theatre.  In  the  latter  case,  it  is  impossible  to 
conceive  that  any  child,  or  a  crowd  of  any  kind,  should 
require  explanations,  aside  from  those  suggested  by  colour 
17 


258  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

alone,  to  arouse  them  to  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 
There  was  philosophy  as  well  as  fancy,  therefore,  under- 
lying the  former  use  of  red  in  the  costumes  of  soldiers. 
Nothing  in  the  way  of  colour  can  surpass  red  in  effective- 
ness. This  fact  has  been  explained  according  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  association.  It  has  been  said  that  red  is  the  colour 
of  blood  and  of  fire,  and  suggests  them.  But  does  it  sug- 
gest them  to  the  bull  and  other  animals  whom  it  excites 
to  fury?  In  these  cases  does  it  not  act  physically? 
Physicists  agree  that  there  is  no  colour  that  agitates  the 
optic  nerve  so  violently.  There  seem  to  be,  therefore, 
just  as  in  the  case  of  outlines,  principles  both  of  associa- 
tion and  of  nature  which  cause  certain  colours,  and,  to  a 
less  degree,  all  colours,  when  at  their  brightest,  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  emotive  excitation,  and  certain  other  colours, 
and,  to  a  less  degree,  all  colours  in  their  lower  tones,  to  be 
representative  of  the  opposite. 

All  the  great  facts  of  nature  are  felt  long  before  they 
are  formulated.  When  the  man  born  blind  expressed  his 
conception  of  the  colour  red  by  saying  that  it  was  like  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet,  he  uttered  not  a  poetic  but  a  literal 
truth.  Just  as  red  is  the  colour  that  is  farthest  removed 
from  the  ordinary  colours  of  nature,  the  blast  of  the  trum- 
pet is  the  sound  that  is  farthest  removed  from  the  ordinary 
sounds  of  nature.  All  pastoral  symphonies  abound  in 
passages  executed  by  the  flutes  and  clarionets,  and  the 
violins  and  other  stringed  instruments.  With  the  music 
produced  by  these,  it  seems  natural  to  associate  the  sounds 
produced  by  the  sighing  and  whistling  of  the  wind,  the 
rushing  and  dashing  of  the  waters,  and  the  occasional  pip- 
ing of  a  bird  and  the  lowing  of  an  animal.  The  drum  and 
cymbal,  too,  may  remind  one  of  the  exceptional  thunder 
of  the  storm,  or  the  roll  of  the  earthquake.     But  when  the 


MEANINGS  OF  COLOURS.  259 

flutes  and  stringed  instruments  give  way  to  the  trumpet 
and  allied  instruments,  then  we  feel  that  man  is  asserting 
his  influence  in  the  scene,  and  we  listen,  almost  instinct- 
ively, for  the  sound  of  his  tramping  feet.  It  is  only  man 
that  marches.  It  is  only  man  that  wages  war,  and  it  is 
only  in  martial  music  and  in  the  expression  of  the  passion 
of  conflict  and  the  pride  of  triumph  that  the  blasts  of  the 
trumpet,  announcing,  as  they  do,  more  distinctively  than 
any  other  musical  sounds,  the  power  and  presence  of  the 
human  being,  realise  to  the  full  their  representative  mis- 
sion. No  wonder  that  even  a  blind  man,  at  the  end  of  the 
play,  just  as  the  curtain  drops  on  the  victorious  conquer- 
ors, should  be  able  to  imagine  how  there  should  be  an 
aesthetic  connection  between  the  brilliant  climax  that  is 
heard  and  the  brilliant  colours  in  the  costumes  and  flags 
which  are  described  to  him  as  surrounding  these  conquer- 
ors and  waving  above  them. 

The  same  principles  must  apply,  of  course,  to  the  sig- 
nificance of  colour  as  used  in  painting  and  architecture. 
In  the  ordinary  portraits  of  great  men,  in  such  paintings 
as  Raphael's  "School  of  Athens"  (Fig.  22,  page  167),  in 
which  we  find  grouped  together  the  celebrated  characters 
of  many  periods,  or  in  a  representation  of  solemnities 
like  that  in  Jules  Breton's  "  First  Communion,"  the 
seriousness  and  dignity  of  the  subjects  are  such  that  we 
do  not  feel  the  need  in  the  pigments  of  much  brightness 
or  contrast.  But  whenever  anything  is  intended  to  pro- 
duce, primarily,  a  powerful  impression,  whether  gay  or 
grave  in  tendency,  the  contrary  is  sometimes  true.  Hence 
one  reason  why  Rubens  with  his  high  and  varied  colour- 
ing is  so  transcendently  great  in  such  representations  of 
profound  excitement  as  in  the  "  Lion  Hunt"  and  "The 
Crucifixion  "   which  is  in  the  gallery  at   Antwerp,  or  in 


260  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  (Fig.  I,  frontispiece),  and  is 
so  correspondingly  gross  in  subjects  of  a  lighter  character, 
as  in  some  of  those  in  the  Old  Pinakothek  at  Munich. 

But  there  is  another  reason  for  this  fact,  and,  in  con- 
nection with  it,  there  is  another  confirmation  of  the  general 
truth  of  the  statements  just  made.  It  may  be  recog- 
nised by  noticing  the  effects  produced  by  colours  upon  pic- 
tures of  the  human  countenance.  So  far  as  this  latter  is 
more  than  a  mass  of  lifeless  flesh,  so  far  as  it  is  something 
fitted  to  be  transfused  and  transfigured  by  the  seriousness 
of  intelligence  and  the  dignity  of  spirituality,  is  there  any 
doubt  that  it  should  be  represented  in  colours  neither  very 
brilliant  nor  greatly  varied  ?  May  there  not  be  a  sense  in 
which  it  is  a  literal  fact  that  the  blue  veins  of  the  aristo- 
crat are  far  more  suggestive  of  sentiment  and  soul  behind 
them,  not  only  than  the  bloated  flush  of  the  inebriate,  but 
even  than  the  ruddy  hues  of  the  peasant  ?  Compare  even 
the  "Beggar  Boys  "  of  Murillo,  or  his  ordinary  women, 
with  the  flaming  flesh  blistering  on  the  limbs  of  some  of 
Rubens's  figures.  Not  alone  the  angular  curves  that 
often  form  the  outlines  of  these  latter,  but  the  colouring, 
too,  causes  all  the  difference  in  delicacy,  refinement,  and 
tenderness  of  sentiment  between  them  and  the  former, 
that  one  might  expect  to  find  between  the  ideal  of  a 
scholar  and  of  a  scavenger. 

So,  too,  in  sculpture.  Is  it  not  universally  recognised 
that  statues  of  dark  gray,  blue,  or  black  marble,  granite, 
or  bronze,  as  in  the  case  of  some  of  the  Egyptian  remains, 
while  fitted  for  subjects  presented  in  proportions  suffi- 
ciently large  to  secure  great  seriousness  and  dignity  of 
effect,  are  much  less  appropriate  than  pure  white  marble 
for  subjects  of  the  same  general  character  when  presented 
in  the  proportions  of  life?     And  is  it  not  equally    true 


MEANINGS   OF   COLOURS.  26 1 

that  subjects  of  a  lighter  character  and  smaller  size  are 
far  more  appropriately  represented  in  the  warmer-coloured 
bronzes? 

In  architecture,  outline  has  usually  more  to  do  with 
effects  than  has  colour.  Yet  here,  too,  few  fail  to  recog- 
nise the  influence  of  the  latter.  Who  can  be  insensible  to 
the  congruity  between  the  seriousness,  gravity,  and 
dignity  of  impression  produced  by  blue  shades  of  gray  or 
even  of  white,  as  they  loom  before  us  in  the  outlines  of 
the  cathedral,  as  in  Figs.  25,  page  216,  and  33,  page  226,  or 
of  the  large  public  edifice,  as  in  Fig.  79,  page  354?  But 
who  finds  it  agreeable  to  have  the  same  conceptions 
associated  with  buildings  designed  for  domestic  purposes  ? 
Observe  how  cold,  as  we  very  appropriately  say,  and 
therefore  how  devoid  of  that  which  is  homelike  and 
inviting,  is  the  impression  sometimes  produced  by  the 
blue-gray  or  white  of  a  mansion,  as  contrasted  with  the 
appearance  of  a  house  constructed  of  material  in  which 
there  is  a  more  liberal  admixture  of  the  warm  hues,  as  in 
stone  or  brick  of  a  yellow,  orange,  or  brown  shade.  And 
what  of  the  warm  colours  when  used  with  contrasts? 
Is  there  any  one  who  is  not  conscious  of  the  joyous,  gay, 
and  exhilarating  suggestions  imparted  by  the  bright  and 
varied  tints  that  invite  one  to  the  pavilion  of  the  park  or 
the  veranda  of  the  seaside  cottage  ?  The  same  principle, 
of  course,  is  exemplified  in  interiors.  Cold  colours  on  the 
walls,  an  exclusive  or  excessive  use  of  blue,  or  of  green, 
will  always  affect  the  sensitive  like  the  clouds  of  a  lowery 
day,  while  the  warmer  colours,  used  either  wholly  or  in 
part,  will  correspondingly  enliven  them.  No  one  can 
deny  the  impressiveness  of  the  gray  of  the  stone  arches 
that  bend  over  the  "dim  religious  light"  of  the  church. 
But  even  the  effect  of  this  needs  to  be  counteracted  by 


262  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

warm  colours  in  the  chancel;  and  would  be  wholly  out  of 
place  in  a  theatre. 

There  is  another  effect  of  these  cold,  as  contrasted  with 
warm,  colours,  which,  perhaps,  should  be  mentioned  here. 
Owing  to  the  degree  of  light  that  is  necessary  for  the 
production  of  the  warmer  colours,  it  is  only  when  object-; 
are  near  at  hand  and  therefore  are  in  very  strong  light 
that,  as  a  rule,  we  perceive  these  colours  at  all.  At  a 
distance,  as  exemplified  in  the  blue  of  mountain  ranges, 
everything  is  robed  in  the  cold  colours.  For  this  reason, 
it  is  held  that,  in  painting,  the  warm  colours,  with  their 
compounds  and  admixtures,  have  the  effect  of  causing 
objects  to  seem  to  be  at  the  front  of  a  picture,  and  the 
cold  colours  of  making  them  seem  to  be  at  the  rear.  We 
know  that  in  linear  perspective  the  farther  off  objects 
are,  the  smaller  they  appear.  In  aerial  perspective,  the 
farther  off  they  are,  the  more  dim,  or  blue,  or  purple,  or 
gray  they  appear  (see  Fig.  2,  page  3).  A  careful  regard 
of  this  rule  may  sometimes  enable  the  painter  not  only 
of  landscapes  but  also  of  figures  to  produce  very  striking 
effects.  An  illustration  of  this  has  been  noticed  in 
"The  Scourging  of  Christ"  by  Titian,  the  greatest  of  the 
older  colourists,  in  which  a  figure,  necessarily  placed  in  the 
front  of  the  picture,  is  painted  in  gray  armour  in  order  not 
to  distract  attention  from  the  Christ  himself,  who,  though 
in  the  rear  of  this,  is  thrust  into  prominence  by  the  red 
colouring  of  his  robe.  A  similar  effect,  in  fact,  is  a  result 
wherever  this  latter  colour  is  introduced. 

As  applied  to  architecture,  it  is  evident  that,  aside  from 
the  effects  of  form,  which  in  certain  cases  may  entirely 
counterbalance  those  of  colour,  the  colder  the  colour,  the 
more  massive,  as  a  rule,  will  appear  not  only  the  building 
itself  but  also  the  grounds  about  it ;  the  effect  of  the  cold 


MEANINGS   OF   COLOURS.  263 

colour  being  to  make  the  house  and  its  parts  seem  at  a 
greater  distance  from  the  observer,  and,  therefore,  greater 
in  size  than  it  would  be  at  the  supposed  distance. 
Hence,  another  reason  for  using  cold  colours  in  grand 
buildings.  The  same  principle  applies  to  the  painting 
and  the  papering  of  an  interior.  The  warm  colours  cause 
an  apartment  to  seem  smaller  and  more  cosy,  and  the 
cold  colours  exactly  the  opposite.  Therefore  for  ceilings, 
especially  of  public  halls  and  churches,  blue  is  rightly 
popular.  Thus  used  it  suggests  largeness  and  elevation, 
as  in  the  sky  which  it  seems  to  resemble  ;  and  it  also 
furnishes,  as  a  rule,  an  agreeable  contrast  to  the  warmer 
colours  appropriate  for  the  walls. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  mixed  as  distinguished  from 
the  unmixed  colours.  Going  back,  for  a  moment,  to  mixed 
tones,  the  first  of  them  that  was  mentioned  was  the 
aspirate.  This,  as  was  said,  is  a  whisper,  and  its  charac- 
teristic is  an  absence  of  any  tone  whatever.  Of  course, 
that  which,  in  the  realm  of  colour,  corresponds  to  an 
absence  of  tone  must  be,  according  to  its  degree  of  in- 
tensity, black  or  white,  or  else  some  gray  quality  formed 
by  mixing  the  two.  The  whisper,  in  its  forcible  form, 
the  analogue  of  which,  in  the  realm  of  sight,  would  be 
black,  indicates  apprehension,  as  in  fright;  and  in  its 
weaker  form,  the  analogue  of  which,  in  the  realm  of  sight, 
would  be  white,  indicates  interest,  as  in  the  secrecy  of  a 
love-scene.  In  both  forms  the  whisper  adds  feeling  to  the 
tone,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  usually  uttered,  if  not  simultane- 
ously with  it,  at  least  before  or  after  it.  This  tone,  of 
course,  considered  irrespective  of  the  whisper  that  is 
joined  with  it,  must  resemble  either  the  normal  or  the 
orotund.  If  it  resemble  the  normal,  the  forcible  whisper 
causes   it    to    have    that    passive   effect    of    apprehension 


264  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

characterising  the  expressions  of  azve  and  horror  repre- 
sented in  the  mixed  quality  which  is  termed  pectoral.  If 
the  tone  resemble  the  orotund,  the  forcible  whisper  causes 
it  to  have  that  active  effect  of  apprehension  characteris- 
ing the  expression  of  hostility  represented  in  the  mixed 
quality  which  is  termed  guttural. 

In  the  realm  of  sight,  nothing  could  be  perceived  if 
everything  were  absolutely  black.  Black,  therefore,  as 
well  as  white,  must  always  be  blended  with  other  shades 
of  colour.  When  blended  thus,  the  effect  of  being  side  by 
side  with  a  colour  is  often  the  same  as  of  actual  mixture. 
At  a  slight  distance,  we  cannot  tell  whether  the  appear- 
ance is  owing  to  the  latter  or  merely  to  the  fact  that  two 
shades  happen  to  be  near  together.  Now  bearing  this  in 
mind  we  may  say  that  the  effect  of  black,  when  blended 
with  the  cold  colours,  corresponds  to  that  of  pectoral 
quality,  and,  when  blended  with  the  warm  colours,  corre- 
sponds to  that  of  guttural  quality. 

Notice,  first,  the  combinations  of  black  with  the  cold 
colours.  In  such  cases  the  black,  of  course,  must  be  quite 
prominent,  and,  merely  to  render  the  objects  depicted 
clearly  perceptible,  it  must  be  offset  in  some  places  by 
cold  colours  of  comparatively  light  tints.  But  where  light 
tints  are  blended  with  absolute  black  there  must  be  some 
violent  contrasts.  Violent  contrasts  of  themselves,  as 
shown  on  page  254,  represent  excitation.  Excitation, 
however,  in  connection  with  blackness,  —  to  go  back  to 
what  was  said,  on  page  253,  of  the  effects  of  light  from 
which  we  have  developed  those  of  pigments,  —  is  excita- 
tion in  connection  with  more  or  less  indistinctness  causing 
perplexity  and  involving  apprehension.  At  the  same 
time,  as  this  apprehensive  excitation  is  connected  with  the 
cold  colours,  it  is  passive,  or,   as  one  might  say,  chilling 


MEANINGS  OF  COLOURS.  265 

and  benumbing,  rather  than  active,  or,  as  one  might  say, 
heating  and  inflaming.  For  this  reason  the  effects  seem 
appropriately  compared  to  those  of  awe  and  horror  repre- 
sented by  the  pectoral  quality.  Of  course,  colour  alone, 
without  other  means  of  expression,  can  only  approximate 
a  representation  of  these;  but  let  the  outlines  justify  it, 
and  what  hues,  mixed  with  those  of  the  countenance,  can 
make  it  so  ghastly  as  dark  blue  and  green;  or  can  make 
the  clouds  of  heaven  so  unheavenly  as  very  dark  blue;  or 
the  sod  of  the  earth  so  unearthly  as  dark  blue-green;  or 
anything  so  deathlike  and  appalling  as  these  colours  used 
with  excessive  contrasts  of  light  and  shade?  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  it  is  with  such  combinations  that  Gustave 
Dore  produces  most  of  the  harrowing  effects  in  his  series 
of  pictures  illustrating  Dante's  "Inferno"? 

Now  let  us  add  black  to  yellow,  orange,  or  red,  either 
mixing  the  two  or  placing  them  side  by  side,  and  notice 
the  effect.  As  said  before,  the  very  dark  shades  cannot, 
in  painting,  be  used  exclusively.  If  they  be,  the  outlines 
cannot  be  made  clearly  perceptible.  But  to  use  black  in 
connection  with  the  lighter  tints,  introduces  that  variety 
which,  as  said  on  page  254,  always  increases  the  excitation 
of  the  effect.  Warmth,  in  connection  with  black,  or,  as 
explained  in  the  last  paragraph,  with  apprehensive  ex- 
citation,—  emotive  heat  causing  active  resistance  to  that 
which  is  dreaded,  —  does  not  this  describe,  as  nearly  as 
anything  can,  a  condition  attendant  upon  hostility  such 
as  is  represented  to  the  ear  by  the  guttural  tone?  In  the 
case  of  the  warm  colours,  too,  still  more  than  in  that  of 
the  cold,  nature  seems  to  have  enforced  the  meanings  of 
the  combinations  so  that  we  shall  not  mistake  them. 
Yellow  and  black,  orange  and  black,  red  and  black,  or,  in 
place   of  black,  very  dark  gray,  green,  blue,    or    purple, 


FIG.   51— INTERIOR   OF   BEVERLEY   MINSTER 
ENGLAND. 
See  pages  qg,  252,  310. 
266 


MEANINGS  OF  COLOURS.  267 

which  are  allied  to  black,  —  is  there  a  particularly  venom- 
ous insect  or  beast,  or  appearance  of  any  kind,  from  a 
bee,  or  a  snake,  or  a  tiger,  to  the  fire  and  smoke  of  a  con- 
flagration, or  the  lightning  and  cloud  of  a  storm,  in  which 
we  do  not  detect  some  presence  of  these  combinations? 
No  wonder,  then,  that  so  often  in  former  times,  at  least, 
soldiers  wore  them  when  girded  for  the  contests  of  the 
battle-field  ! 

The  whisper,  in  its  weaker  form,  was  said  to  represent 
not  apprehension,  but  a  more  or  less  agreeable  degree  of 
interest.  Of  course,  the  weaker  form  of  a  negation  of 
colour,  at  its  extreme,  must  be  represented  by  white.  As 
applied  to  tones,  there  is  no  separate  term  of  designation 
for  this  whisper  when  added  to  normal  or  orotund  qual- 
ity. Elocutionists  merely  speak  of  an  aspirated  normal 
or  orotund,  saying  that,  when  aspirated,  feeling  is  added 
to  the  effect  of  each.  Let  us  recall  now  combinations  of 
white  with  blue,  green,  or  purple.  Is  there  any  diffi- 
culty in  recognising  how  closely  the  result  corresponds 
to  that  which  is  produced  by  an  aspirated  normal  tone? 
We  have  all  seen  such  combinations  in  summer  costumes, 
as  well  as  in  tents  and  awnings  over  windows  or  veran- 
das. In  such  cases,  is  there  not  a  more  exhilarating  ef- 
fect produced  by  them  than  could  be  produced  by  white 
alone  ?  or  by  one  of  these  colours  alone  ?  Yet,  at  the  same 
time,  is  not  the  effect  far  cooler,  and,  in  this  sense,  less 
exhilarating,  than  is  produced  by  combinations  of  white 
with  red,  orange,  or  yellow  ? 

In  these  latter  we  have,  as  has  been  said,  that  which 
corresponds  to  the  effect  of  the  aspirated  orotund, — the 
tone  used  in  earnest  advocacy  or  description  of  some- 
thing which  is  felt  to  be  in  itself  of  profound  interest. 
Think  of  the  combinations  of  white  with  these  warmer 


268  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

colours.  Could  any  language  better  than  that  just  used 
designate  their  peculiar  inflence  ?  What  than  they  are 
more  exhilarating  or  entrancing  in  the  decorations  of  in- 
teriors, or  in  banners  and  pageants  ? 

Even  were  it  possible,  which  it  is  not,  to  illustrate  fully 
in  book-form  these  various  effects  of  colour,  there  would 
be  no  great  necessity  for  doing  so.  By  following  up  the 
suggestions  that  have  been  made,  those  interested  in  the 
subject  will  have  no  difficulty  in  applying  the  principles 
unfolded, —  sufficiently,  at  least,  to  become  convinced  of 
their  essential  accuracy.  Nor  is  it  necessary  in  this  place 
to  carry  the  discussion  farther,  and  try  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  representative  possibilities  of  each  of  the  cold 
colours — green,  blue,  and  purple,  or  of  the  warm  colours — 
red,  orange,  and  yellow.  Viewed  in  their  relations  to 
mental  effects,  the  differences  between  the  colours  of  each 
group,  as  between  the  shades  of  each  colour,  are  mainly  of 
degree,  not  of  kind,  and  depend  largely  upon  the  natural 
colour  of  the  objects  represented  or  by  which  these  are 
surrounded.  The  only  unvarying  fact  is  that  indicated 
by  the  general  division  into  cold  and  warm  colours.  Ac- 
cordingly attention  has  been  directed  here  to  this,  and 
to  this  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ART-COMPOSITION. 

Imagination  Necessary  in  Elaborating  as  well  as  in  Originating  Represen- 
tative Forms  of  Expression  —  Methods  of  Composing  Music — Poetry — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — Mental  Methods  in  Art-Com- 
position Analogous  to  Other  Mental  Methods — To  that  in  Classifica- 
tion— How  Art-Classification  Differs  from  Ordinary  Classification — 
The  Method  of  Classification  not  Inconsistent  with  Representing  the 
Artist's  Thoughts  and  Emotions — Or  with  Representing  Nature — Ex- 
planation— Artists  Influenced  by  Mental  and  Material  Considerations — 
Methods  of  Art-Composition  Are  Methods  of  Obtaining  Unity  of 
Effect — Obtained  in  Each  Art  by  Comparison,  or  Putting  Like  with 
Like — Variety  in  Nature  Necessitating  Contrast — Contrast  in  Each 
Art — Also  Complexity — Complement — Order  and  Group -Form — Con- 
fusion and  Counteraction — Principality  and  Subordination — Balance — 
Distinguished  from  Complement  and  Counteraction — Principality  in 
Music  and  Poetry — Subordination  and  Balance  in  the  Same — Princi- 
pality in  Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Organic  Form — 
In  Music — In  Poetry — In  Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture. 

CHAPTERS  XII. and  XIII.  have  shown  us  that  certain 
audible  or  visible  effects  traceable  to  material  or  to 
human  nature  have,  either  by  way  of  comparison,  as  in  imi- 
tation, or  of  association,  as  in  conventional  usage,  a  recog- 
nised meaning.  This  meaning  enables  the  mind  to  employ 
them  in  representing  its  conceptions.  But  what  has 
been  said  applies  to  the  use  of  these  effects  so  far  only 
as  they  exist  in  the  condition  in  which  they  manifest 
themselves  in  nature.  Art-composition  involves  an  elabo- 
ration   and    often    an    extensive    combination    of    them. 

269 


270  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

How  can  they  be  elaborated  and  combined  in  such  a  way 
as  to  cause  them  to  continue  to  represent  the  same  con- 
ceptions that  they  represented  before  art  had  begun  its 
work  upon  them  ?  Evidently  this  result  can  be  attained  in 
the  degree  alone  in  which  all  that  is  added  to  the  natural 
sound  or  sight  representing  the  original  conception  con- 
tinues to  repeat  the  same  representative  effect.  In  other 
words,  the  imagination,  which,  by  way  of  comparison  or  of 
association,  connected  together  the  original  mental  con- 
ception and  the  form  representing  it,  must  continue,  in  the 
same  way  to  connect  together  this  form  and  all  the  forms 
added  to  it  by  way  of  elaboration  or  combination.  Other 
methods  of  expression — religious  or  scientific — may  use 
imagination  in  only  its  initial  work  of  formulating  words 
or  other  symbols,  but  art  must  use  it  to  the  very  end.  It 
matters  not  whether  its  first  conception  be  an  image  of 
a  whole,  as  of  an  entire  poem  or  palace,  or  whether  it 
be  an  image  of  a  part,  as  of  a  certain  form  of  metre  or 
of  arch,  the  imagination,  in  dividing  the  image  of  the 
whole  into  parts,  or  in  building  up  the  whole  from  its 
parts,  must  always,  in  successful  art,  continue  to  carry  on 
its  work  by  way  of  comparison  or  association. 

To  illustrate  this  in  music.  How  is  a  song  or  a  sym- 
phony that  is  expressive  of  any  given  feeling,  composed  ? 
Always  thus:  A  certain  duration,  force,  pitch,  or  quality 
of  voice,  varied  two  or  three  times,  is  recognised  to  be  a 
natural  form  of  expression  for  a  certain  state  of  mind, — 
satisfaction,  grief,  ecstasy,  fright,  as  the  case  may  be.  A 
musician  takes  this  form  of  sound,  and  adds  to  it  other 
forms  that  in  rhythm  or  in  modulation,  or  in  both,  can  be 
compared  or  associated  with  it,  varying  it  in  only  such 
subordinate  ways  as  constantly  to  suggest  it ;  and  thus  he 
elaborates  a  song  expressive  of  satisfaction,  grief,  ecstasy, 


ART  COMPOSITION.  2JI 

or  fright.  Or  if  it  be  a  symphony,  the  method  is  the 
same.  The  whole,  intricate  as  it  may  appear,  is  developed 
by  recurrences  of  the  same  or  very  similar  effects,  varied 
almost  infinitely  but  in  such  ways  as  constantly  to  suggest 
a  few  notes  or  chords  which  form  the  theme  or  themes. 

A  similar  fact  is  true  with  reference  to  poetic  elabora- 
tion. What  are  the  following  but  series  of  compari- 
sons,— reiterations  of  the  same  particular  or  general  idea 
in  different  phraseology  or  figures  ? 

And  what  is  music  then  ?     Then  music  is 
Even  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 
To  a  new-crowned  monarch  ;  such  it  is, 
As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day. 
That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear. 
And  summon  him  to  marriage. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  Hi.,  2:  Shakespeare. 

Brutus  and  Caesar  :  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar  ? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well  ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  them, 
"  Brutus"   will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  "  Caesar." 

Julius  Ccesar,  i. ,  2  :  Idem. 

What  do  we  have  in  the  poetic  treatment  of  a  subject 
considered  as  a  whole,  as  in  an  epic  or  a  drama?  Nothing 
but  repeated  delineations  of  the  same  general  concep- 
tions or  characters  as  manifested  or  developed  amid  dif- 
ferent surroundings  of  time  or  of  place. 

So  with  the  forms  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  archi- 
tecture. Every  one  knows  that,  as  a  rule,  certain  like 
lines,  arches,  or  angles  are  repeated  in  the  columns, 
cornices,  doors,  windows,  and  roofs  of  buildings.  Few, 
perhaps,    without    instruction,    recognise    that    the  same 


272  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

principle  is  true  as  applied  to  both  the  outlines  and  col- 
ours through  which  art  delineates  the  scenery  of  land  or 
water  or  the  limbs  of  living  creatures.  But  one  thing 
almost  all  recognise  :  This  is  that,  in  the  highest  works 
of  art,  every  special  effect  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  general 
effect.  In  the  picture  of  a  storm,  for  instance,  every 
cloud,  wave,  leaf,  bough,  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  storm's 
effect  ;  in  the  statue  of  a  sufferer,  every  muscle  in  the  face 
or  form  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  suffering's  effect ;  in  the 
architecture  of  a  building, — if  of  a  single  style, — every 
window,  door,  and  dome  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  style's 
effect. 

It  is  important  to  notice  now  that  this  method  of  art- 
composition  which  has  been  indicated  is  in  analogy  with 
methods  which  the  mind  employs  with  reference  to  many 
other  subjects  besides  those  which  concern  art.  The  ap- 
pearances of  nature  which  the  artist  has  to  study  are  the 
same  as  those  which  every  man  has  to  study.  They  con- 
front the  child  the  moment  that  eye  or  ear  is  fairly  opened 
to  apprehend  the  world  about  him.  As  soon  as  he  be- 
gins to  observe  and  think  and  act,  these  furnish  him  with 
his  materials — with  facts  to  know,  with  subjects  to  under- 
stand, with  implements  to  use.  Always,  however,  before 
he  can  avail  himself  of  them,  he  must  do  what  is  expressed 
in  the  old  saying,  "  Classify  and  conquer."  When  the 
child  first  observes  the  world,  everything  is  a  maze;  but 
anon,  out  of  this  maze  objects  emerge  which  he  contrasts 
with  other  objects  and  distinguishes  from  them.  After  a 
little,  he  sees  that  two  or  three  of  these  objects,  thus  dis- 
tinguished, are  alike  ;  and  pursuing  a  process  of  compari- 
son he  is  able,  by  himself,  or  with  the  help  of  others,  to 
unite  and  to  classify  them,  and  to  give  to  each  class  a 
name. 


ART  COMPOSITION.  273 

As  soon  as,  in  this  way,  he  has  learned  to  separate  cer- 
tain animals, — horses,  say,  from  sheep, — and  to  unite  and 
classify  and  name  them,  he  begins  to  know  something  of 
zoology  ;  and  all  his  future  knowledge  of  that  branch  will 
be  acquired  by  further  employment  of  the  same  method. 
So  all  his  knowledge,  and  not  only  this,  but  his  under- 
standing and  application  of  the  laws  of  botany,  mineral- 
ogy, psychology,  or  theology  will  depend  on  the  degree 
in  which  he  learns  to  separate  from  others,  and  thus  to 
unite  and  classify  and  name  certain  plants,  rocks,  mental 
activities,  or  religious  dogmas.  Without  classification  to 
begin  with,  there  can  be  no  knowledge,  no  understanding, 
no  efficient  use  of  the  materials  which  nature  furnishes. 
The  physicist  is  able  to  recognise,  relate,  and  reproduce 
effects  in  only  the  degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  classify 
the  appearances  and  laws,  the  facts  and  forces  of  material 
nature.  The  metaphysician  is  able  to  know  and  prove 
and  guide  to  right  action  in  only  the  degree  in  which  he 
is  able  to  classify  feelings,  conceptions,  and  volitions  with 
their  motives  and  tendencies  as  they  arise  in  mental  con- 
sciousness and  manifest  themselves  in  action. 

Why  should  not  the  same  principle  apply  in  the  arts? 
It  undoubtedly  does.  Just  as  the  physicist  classifies 
effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath  phe- 
nomena of  a  physical  nature,  and  the  psychologist  classi- 
fies effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath 
phenomena  of  a  psychical  nature,  so  the  artist  classifies 
effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath  phe- 
nomena of  an  artistic  nature.  It  is  true  that  what  has 
been  called  classification  does  not  in  art  result  merely  in 
mental  conceptions  of  classes,  as  of  horses  or  oaks  in  sci- 
ence, or  as  of  materialists  or  idealists  in  philosophy.  The 
first  result  is  a  mental  conception  ;  but  afterwards,  through 
18 


274  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

a  further  application  of  precisely  the  same  methods,  there 
comes  to  bean  objective  external  product.  In  other  words 
the  artist  begins  by  gaining  a  general  conception  of  a  class 
in  the  same  way  as  the  scientist  and  philosopher ;  but  he 
ends  by  producing  a  special  specimen  of  the  class.  Let 
us  try  to  perceive  just  what  is  meant  by  this  statement. 
While  doing  so,  we  may  be  able  to  perceive  also  in  what 
sense  it  is  true  that  the  mind,  when  classifying  in  art,  is 
still  representing,  as  all  art  should,  both  its  own  thoughts 
and  emotions,  and  also  the  natural  phenomena  surround- 
ing it. 

To  show  that  the  mind  is  still  representing  its  own 
thoughts  and  emotions,  one  need  only  direct  attention  to 
the  intimate  connection  that  always  exists  between  giv- 
ing expression  to  general  conceptions,  and  representing 
the  whole  range  of  the  results  of  a  man's  observation  and 
thought  that  together  constitute  his  mental  character. 
Imagine  a  gardener  classifying  his  roses — as  he  must  do 
instinctively  the  moment  that  he  has  to  deal  with  any 
large  number  of  them — and  obtaining  thus  a  general  con- 
ception of  the  flower.  Then  imagine  him  trying  in  some 
artificial  way  to  produce  a  single  rose  embodying  this 
conception.  This  rose  will  very  likely  resemble  someone 
rose  particularly  present  to  his  mind  while  forming  it ;  yet 
probably  because,  before  starting  with  his  work,  he  has 
obtained  a  conception  of  roses  in  general,  his  product  will 
manifest  some  rose-like  qualities  not  possessed  by  the 
specimen  before  him,  but  suggested  by  others.  That  is 
to  say,  because  of  his  general  conception  derived  from 
classifying,  he  does  more  than  imitate — he  represents  in 
that  which  is  a  copy  of  one  rose  ideas  derived  from  many 
roses.  The  same  principle  applies  to  all  works  of  art. 
Let  a  man  write  a  story  or  paint  a  picture.     In  nine  cases 


CLASSIFICATION  IN  ART.  2?$ 

out  of  ten  in  the  exact  degree  in  which  he  has  observed 
and  classified  many  like  events  or  scenes,  he  will  add  to 
his  product  the  results  of  his  own  thinking  or  general- 
ising. In  fact,  it  is  a  question  whether  the  chief  charm 
of  such  works  is  not  imparted  by  the  introduction  into 
them,  in  legitimate  ways,  of  this  kind  of  generalisation 
having  its  sources  not  in  the  particular  things  described, 
but  in  the  brains  of  the  describers,  who  have  already 
been  made  familiar  with  many  other  things  somewhat 
similar.  Shakespeare  certainly  did  not  get  the  most  at- 
tractive features  of  his  historical  plays  from  history,  nor 
Turner  those  of  his  pictures  from  nature.  So,  as  a  rule, 
even  in  the  most  imitative  of  works,  the  really  great  art- 
ist, consciously  or  unconsciously,  gives  form  to  concep- 
tions that  he  has  derived  from  an  acquaintance  with 
many  other  objects  of  the  same  class  as  those  imitated. 
There  is  no  need  of  saying  more  to  show  what  is  meant 
by  affirming  that  the  mind  of  the  artist  that  would  repre- 
sent itself  in  art  must  start  by  classifying  in  order  to 
conquer  the  forms  of  nature  with  which  it  has  to  deal. 

Now  let  us  notice  that  the  mind,  when  classifying,  may 
still  represent  the  natural  phenomena  surrounding  it. 
At  first  thought,  classification  and  imitation  appear  to 
necessitate  different  processes.  But  possibly  they  do 
not.  Suppose  that  natural  forms  themselves  were  all 
found  to  manifest  an  effect  like  that  of  classification.  In 
this  case,  to  imitate  them  would  involve  imitating  it; 
and  to  add  to  them,  as  is  usually  done  in  art,  and  to  add 
to  them  in  such  ways  as  to  make  the  added  features  seem 
analogous  to  the  imitated  ones,  and  thus  to  cause  the 
forms  as  wholes  to  continue  to  seem  natural,  would  in- 
volve continuing  the  process  of  classification.  Now,  if, 
with  this  thought  in  mind,  we  recall  the  appearances  of 


276  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

nature,  we  shall  recognise  that  the  condition  which  has 
been  supposed  to  exist  there  really  does  exist.  A  man, 
when  classifying  rocks,  puts  together  mentally  those  that 
are  alike.  So  does  nature,  grouping  them  in  the  same 
mountain  ranges,  or  at  the  bottoms  of  the  same  streams. 
He  puts  together  leaves,  and  feathers,  and  hairs  that  are 
alike.  So  does  nature,  making  them  grow  on  the  same 
trees,  or  birds,  or  animals.  He  puts  together  human 
beings  that  are  alike.  So  does  nature,  giving  birth  to 
them  in  the  same  families,  races,  climates,  countries.  In 
fact,  a  man's  mind  is  a  part  of  nature  ;  and  when  it  works 
naturally,  it  works  as  nature  does.  He  combines  ele- 
ments as  a  result  of  classification,  in  accordance  with 
methods  analogous  to  those  in  which  nature,  or,  "  the 
mind  in  nature,"  combines  them.  Indeed,  he  would 
never  have  thought  of  classification  at  all,  unless  in  na- 
ture itself  he  had  first  perceived  the  beginning  of  it.  He 
would  never  have  conceived  of  forming  a  group  of  ani- 
mals and  calling  them  horses,  nor  have  been  able  to  con- 
ceive of  this,  unless  nature  had  first  made  horses  alike. 
To  put  together  the  factors  of  an  art-product,  therefore, 
in  accordance  with  the  methods  of  classification,  does  not 
involve  any  process  inconsistent  with  representing  ac- 
curately the  forms  that  appear  in  the  world.  These 
forms  themselves  are  made  up  of  factors  apparently  put 
together  in  the  same  way,  though  not  to  the  same  extent. 
In  the  author's  book  entitled  "The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form,"  the  suggestions  derived  from  a  line  of  thought 
similar  to  that  just  pursued,  are  developed  into  various 
methods  used  in  art-composition.  These  methods  are 
printed  in  the  chart  on  page  277  of  the  present  volume. 
In  that  book  the  methods  and  the  effects  of  applying 
them  to  each  art  are  described  in  detail.     For  our  present 


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278  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

purpose,  it  will  be  necessary  merely  to  mention  them 
briefly. 

From  what  has  been  said  already,  it  is  evident  that 
the  artist  in  his  work  is  influenced  by  both  mental  and 
material  considerations.  He  starts  with  a  conception 
which  in  his  mind  is  associated  with  certain  forms  or 
series  of  forms.  He  copies  these,  and  adds  others  that 
seem  like  them;  i.  e.,  he  makes  use  of  forms  attributable, 
some  of  them,  to  the  character  of  the  conception  that  he 
wishes  to  express,  and  some  of  them  to  the  character  of 
the  resemblance  to  others  which  they  show;  some  of 
them,  in  other  words,  to  mental,  and  some  of  them  to 
material  considerations.  But  while  this  is  true  in  such  a 
sense  as  to  justify  a  general  division  of  his  methods 
upon  the  ground  that  they  are  traceable  in  part  to  the 
character  of  mind  and  in  part  to  that  of  nature,  there  is 
also  a  sense  in  which  every  one  of  them  is  traceable  to 
both.  For  this  reason  a  discussion  of  any  method  what- 
ever must  include,  to  be  complete,  some  reference  both  to 
its  mental  and  to  its  material  bearings.  With  this  ex- 
planation, which  will  show  that  it  is  not  intended  to 
make  too  exclusive  a  statement  in  any  case,  we  may  divide 
the  methods  of  classification  and  also  of  art-composition 
into  those  that  manifest  chiefly  the  effects  of  mind,  of 
nature,  and  of  the  combined  influences  of  both.  (See 
chart  on  page  277.) 

So  far  as  classification  results  from  the  conditionsof  mind, 
its  function  is  to  simplify  the  work  of  forming  concepts, 
and  its  end  is  attained  in  the  degree  in  which  it  enables 
one  to  conceive  of  many  different  things — birds  or  beasts, 
larks  or  geese,  dogs  or  sheep,  as  the  case  may  be  — as  one. 
Classification  is,  therefore,  an  effort  in  the  direction  of 
unity.     It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  the  same  is  true 


COMPARISON  IN  ART  FORM.  279 

of  art-composition.     Its  object  is  to  unite  many  different 
features  in  a  single  form. 

Unity  being  the  aim  of  classification,  it  is  evident  that 
the  most  natural  way  of  attaining  this  aim  is  that  of  put- 
ting, so  far  as  possible,  like  with  like;  and  that  doing  this 
necessitates  a  process  of  comparison.  Applying  this  princi- 
ple to  art-composition,  and  looking,  first,  at  music,  we  find 
that  the  chief  characteristic  of  its  form  is  a  series  of  phrases 
of  like  lengths,  divided  into  like  numbers  of  measures,  all 
sounded  in  like  time,  through  the  use  of  notes  that  move 
upward  or  downward  in  the  scale  at  like  intervals,  with  like 
recurrences  of  melody  and  harmony.  So  with  poetry. 
The  chief  characteristics  of  its  form  are  lines  of  like  lengths, 
divided  into  like  numbers  of  feet,  each  uttered  in  like  time, 
to  which  are  sometimes  added  alliteration,  assonance,  and 
rhyme,  produced  by  the  recurrence  of  like  sounds  in  either 
consonants,  vowels,  or  both.  In  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture,  no  matter  of  what  "  style,"  the  same  is  true. 
The  most  superficial  inspection  of  any  product  of  these 
aits,  if  it  be  of  established  reputation,  will  convince  one 
that  it  is  composed  in  the  main  by  putting  together  forms 
that  are  alike  in  such  things  as  colour,  shape,  size,  posture, 
and  proportion.  In  confirmation  of  this,  observe,  of 
paintings,  "  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  Fig.  I,  frontis- 
piece ;  the  "  Pollice  Verso,"  Fig.  4,  page  41;  "  The  Storm," 
Fig.  7,  page  91  ;  "  Lines  Expressive  of  Storm,"  Fig.  30, 
page  221,  and  "  Lines  Expressive  of  Repose,"  Fig.  3 1 ,  page 
223,  and  "  The  Soldier's  Return,"  Fig.  9,  page  97.  Finally 
of  buildings  observe,  in  the  Greek  style,  the  "  Maison  Car- 
ree,"  Fig.  15,  page  104,  and  the  "  Temple  of  y£gina,"  Fig. 
28,  page  219;  in  the  Gothic  style,  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne, 
Fig.  33,  page  226;  and  in  the  Byzantine  and  Oriental  styles, 
"  St.  Mark's,"  Fig.  34,  page  227  ;  the  "  Chinese  Temple," 


28o 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 


Fig.  52,  page  280,  and  that  great  memorial  structure  of 
India,  by  many  considered  the  most  beautiful  building  in 
the  world,  the  "  Taj  Mahal,"  Fig.  53,  page  281. 


FIG.  52. — POUTOU  TEMPLE,  NINQPO,  CHINA. 
See  pages  99,  279,  280,  296. 

But  classification  is  traceable  not  only  to  the  conditions 
of  mind  but  also  of  nature,  (  See  chart  on  page  277.)  It 
is  in  the  latter  that  the  mind  is  confronted  by  that  which 
classification  is  intended  to  overcome,  by  that  which  is  the 
opposite  of  unity  — namely,  variety.  If  there  were  none 
of  this  in  nature,  all  things  would  appear  to  be  alike,  and 


2  82  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

classification  would  be  unnecessary.  As  a  fact,  however, 
no  two  things  are  alike  in  all  regards  ;  and  the  mind  must 
content  itself  with  putting  together  those  that  are  alike  in 
some  regards.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  classifica- 
tion involves,  occasionally,  putting  the  like  with  the  tinlike  ; 
and  necessitates  contrast  as  well  as  comparison.  The  ob- 
jects brought  together  in  the  same  group,  while  similar  in 
certain  general  and  salient  features,  are  dissimilar  in  par- 
ticular and  less  prominent  ones.  From  a  distance,  or  upon 
first  observation,  all  the  voices  of  men  and  all  the  trees  of 
a  forest  may  seem  like  repetitions  of  one  another.  Were 
it  not  so,  we  should  fail  to  understand  what  is  meant  by 
the  terms  "  human  voice  "  and  "  oak-tree."  We  use  these 
terms  as  a  result  of  unconscious  classification  obtained 
by  regarding  certain  general  features  that  first  attract 
attention.  But  when  we  approach  near  the  object  or  ex- 
amine it  carefully,  we  find  that  each  voice  and  tree  differs 
from  its  neighbours;  not  only  so,  but  each  note  of  the 
same  voice  and  each  leaf  of  the  same  tree. 

A  similar  fact  is  observable  in  products  of  art.  One  of 
the  most  charming  effects  in  music  and  poetry  is  that  pro- 
duced when  more  or  less  unlikeness  is  blended  with  the 
likeness  in  rhythm,  tone,  and  movement  which,  a  moment 
ago,  was  said  to  constitute  the  chief  element  of  artistic 
form.  Notice  this  fact  as  exemplified  in  the  poetry  on 
page  325.  In  painting  and  sculpture  one  of  the  most  in- 
variable characteristics  of  that  which  is  inartistic  is  a  lack 
of  sufficient  diversity,  colours  too  similar,  outlines  too  uni- 
form. See  the  quotations  on  page  315.  So,  too,  with  archi- 
tecture. Notice  the  conventional  fronts  of  the  buildings 
on  many  of  the  streets  of  our  cities.  Their  accumulations 
of  doors  and  windows  and  cornices,  all  of  like  sizes  and 
shapes,  are  certainly  not  in  the  highest  sense  interesting. 


COMPLEXITY  AND   COMPLEMENT.  283 

When  we  have  seen  a  few  of  them,  we  have  seen  all  of 
them.  In  order  to  continue  to  attract  our  attention,  forms 
must,  now  and  then,  present  features  that  have  not  been 
seen  before. 

As  contrast  is  exemplified  in  complement ,  subordina- 
tion, balance,  alternation,  and  other  methods  that  are 
to  be  considered  hereafter,  there  is  no  need  of  dwell- 
ing upon  it  here,  nor  upon  the  self-evident  fact  brought 
out  in  the  chart  on  page  277,  that  any  form  composed  of 
both  like  and  unlike  factors  necessarily  manifests  more 
or  less  complexity. 

Complement  is  a  term  applied  to  two  things  that  contrast, 
and  yet  concur,  because  together  they  complete  the  one 
thing  to  which  they  equally  belong.  Complement  must 
be  regarded,  too,  in  classification,  because  every  depart- 
ment of  nature  is  full  of  it.  Certain  kinds  of  metals  and 
ores,  leaves  and  branches,  males  and  females,  alike  in  some 
regards,  unlike  in  others,  are  always  found  together, 
and  are  both  necessary  to  the  realisation  of  the 
type.  So  in  the  arts.  In  those  of  sound,  high  and  low 
tones  contrast;  and  yet  for  rhythm,  melody,  or  harmony, 
both  are  necessary.  In  the  arts  of  sight,  light  and  shade 
contrast ;  and  yet,  to  represent  the  effects  of  form  as  it 
appears  in  sunlight,  both  are  necessary.  In  colours,  again, 
certain  hues,  like  blue-green  and  red,  contrast ;  and  yet 
as  both,  when  blended  together,  make  white,  both  may  be 
said  to  be  necessary  to  the  completeness  of  light.  In 
all  these  cases  the  contrasting  factors  are  termed 
complements. 

When,  owing  to  variety  and  complexity,  unity  cannot  be 
attained  through  a  use  of  forms  as  they  exist  in  nature,  it 
must  be  attained  through  a  method  of  using  them  ;  in 
other  words,  through  order.     When  thus  attained,  thought 


284  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

contents  itself  with  arranging  forms  together,  one  after 
another,  according  to  the  degree  in  which  a  first  form  is 
like  a  second,  and  a  second  like  a  third,  and  so  on.  This 
process  can  be  continued  almost  indefinitely.  As  a  fact, 
there  are,  as  it  were,  links  of  resemblance  enabling  one  to 
connect  every  kind  or  class  of  form  with  other  kinds  or 
classes  nearly  related  to  it,  and  thus  to  connect  all  possible 
kinds  or  classes  together.  When  an  attempt  is  made  to  do 
this,  the  forms  or  classes,  according  to  their  degrees  of  dif- 
ference, come  to  be  grouped  in  a  regularly  graded  series. 
We  may  express  this  fact  by  saying  that  the  forms  or  the 
classes,  as  a  whole,  come  to  have  group- form.  When 
this  result  is  reached,  the  work  of  order  is  manifest.  Of 
course,  the  principle  applies  to  the  bringing  together  of 
factors  either  in  scientific  classification  or  in  an  art-work. 
Notice  the  group-form,  or  orderly  arrangement,  of  the  ob- 
jects and  persons  represented  in  Fig.  I ,  frontispiece;  Fig.  4, 
page  41;  Fig.  8,  page  96 ;  Fig.  9,  page  97;  Fig.  22,  page 
167;  and  Fig.  37,  page  233. 

When  the  conditions  of  nature  necessitate  such  an  effect 
of  variety  that  there  is  no  order,  we  have  that  lack  of  ar- 
rangement preceding  and  necessitating  classification  which 
is  termed  confusion.  But,  because  confusion  exists  in  na- 
ture, it  may  sometimes  be  legitimately  introduced  into  art. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  although  a  little  confusion, 
like  a  little  contrast,  may  sometimes,  by  way  of  variety,  add 
greatly  to  the  attractiveness  of  that  with  which  it  is  as- 
sociated, it  nevertheless  needs  to  be  used  in  such  a  way  as 
to  suggest  the  dominance  of  unity  and  order.  This  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  confusion  necessitates  counteraction. 
Counteraction  keeps  confusion  within  the  compass  of  some 
rhythm,  tune,  shape,  or  hue ;  and  causes  the  whole, 
in  spite  of  opposing  elements,  to   manifest  method.     If 


ORDER  AND  PRINCIPALITY.  285 

applied  to  music,  it  causes  gongs  or  drums  to  be  struck  so  as 
to  augment  the  rhythmic  effect  of  the  general  movement. 
Applied  to  painting,  it  causes  tangled  masses  of  wool,  or 
foliage,  to  hang  about  animals,  trees,  or  towers  ;  and  some- 
times, through  a  use  of  a  background  of  mathematical 
architectural  forms,  it  holds  together  and  makes  a  unity 
of  otherwise  confused  groups  of  men,  as  in  Raphael's 
"  School  of  Athens  "  (  Fig.  22,  page  167). 

In  making  a  practical  application  of  the  requirements  of 
order  and  of  the  methods  associated  with  it,  some  mem- 
ber of  a  class  is  always  considered  first,  after  which  are 
arranged  in  order  second,  third,  fourth,  and  other  members. 
But  of  all  these,  the  first  is  evidently  the  most  important. 
It  is  the  nucleus  about  which  the  others  are  grouped  ;  and, 
theoretically  considered,  we  should  judge  that  it  would  be 
typical  of  them  all.  Practically,  too,  it  is  so.  Classifica- 
tion is  invariably  begun  by  observing  a  few  details  charac- 
terising some  one  form  —  say  a  palm-tree  or  a  wolf  —  to 
which  is  given  what  is  sometimes  termed  principality. 
About  this  form  are  then  grouped  other  forms,  all  of  which 
are  said  to  belong  — as  the  case  may  be — to  the  palm 
family  or  the  wolf  family.  In  art  the  conception  of  a  theme 
in  poetry,  music,  painting,  sculpture,  or  architecture,  is 
identical  with  that  of  a  particular  form  apprehended  by 
the  mind.  When  this  form,  or,  if  it  be  only  such,  this  fea- 
ture is  given  principality,  it  follows,  as  an  axiom,  that  all 
other  forms  or  features  associated  with  it  must  be  given 
subordination.     See  the  chart  on  page  277. 

Once  more,  wherever  there  is  a  principal  factor  and  also 
a  subordinate,  or  many  subordinate  factors,  the  endeavour 
to  arrange  them  together  leads  to  what  is  termed  balance. 
Balance  is  an  effect  of  an  equilibrium  obtained  by  arrang- 
ing like  features  on  both  sides  of  a  real  or  ideal  centre.     It 


286  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS 

makes  no  difference  whether  the  features  be  alike  in  quan- 
tity, which  is  the  first  suggestion  given  by  the  word,  or  in 
quality.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  in  some  way  they 
should  be  or  seem  alike.  In  this  regard  balance  differs 
from  either  complement  or  counteraction  ;  for  in  both  of 
these  an  essential  consideration  is  unlikeness.  At  the 
same  time,  all  three  have  much  in  common.  One  arm,  for 
instance,  thrust  forward  from  a  bending  body  and  one  leg 
thrust  backward  from  it,  may  contrast  strongly  in  both 
appearance  and  position  ;  and  in  this  regard  may  resemble 
complement.  Undoubtedly,  too,  they  counteract  each 
other.  But  because  they  present  an  appearance  of  equi- 
librium in  that  like  quantities  seem  to  be  on  each  side  of 
the  centre,  our  first  thought  is  not  that  they  complement 
or  counteract,  but  that  they  balance. 

The  close  connection  between  these  three,  complement, 
counteraction,  and  balance,  accounts  for  the  fact  that  in 
ordinary  language  and  conception  they  are  not  clearly  dis- 
tinguished. Nor  is  it  often  important  that  they  should  be. 
In  one  regard,  at  least,  they  are  all  alike.  They  are  all  de- 
velopments of  the  same  principle.  Complement  produces 
unity  in  a  natural  way  from  things  different.  Counterac- 
tion applies  the  principle  underlying  complement  to  things 
that  are  not  complementary  by  nature  ;  and  balance,  going 
still  farther,  applies  the  same  principle  to  things  that  may 
be  neither  complementary  nor  counteractive,  in  such  a 
way  as  to  give  a  more  satisfactory  appearance  to  the  form 
by  adding  to  it  an  effect  of  equilibrium.  A  still  later 
development  of  the  same  principle,  preceding  which,  how- 
ever, there  need  to  be  some  intervening  stages,  results  in 
symmetry.     See  chart  on  page  277. 

To  notice  the  ways  in  which  the  methods  that  have  just 
been  mentioned  may  be  applied  in  each  of  the  arts,  a  few 


PRINCIPALITY  AND    SUBORDINATION.  287 

notes — only  the  suggestion,  perhaps,  of  a  melody — furnish 
a  form  and  with  it  a  principal  theme  expressive  of  some 
musical  idea.  Other  subordinate  series  of  notes,  sup- 
posed for  some  reason  to  be  more  or  less  like  the  first,  or, 
if  not,  at  least  complementing,  counteracting,  or  balancing 
it  or  one  another,  are  arranged  in  order  about  it,  and 
through  the  use  of  them  is  developed  a  work  like  a  sym- 
phony. A  few  phrases  containing  certain  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables,  perhaps  only  one  word  like  the 
"  Nevermore  "  of  Poe's  "  Raven,"  furnish  a  form  and  with 
it  a  principal  theme  expressive  of  some  poetic  idea  ;  and 
by  a  similar  process  there  is  developed  a  whole  poem. 
Sometimes  a  chorus  or  refrain  at  the  end  of  successive 
stanzas  illustrates  principality,  e.  g.  : 

Home,  home  !  sweet,  sweet  home  ! 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there  's  no  place  like  home  ! 

Home,  Sweet  Home  :  Payne. 

Sometimes  the  principal  thing  may  be  some  grand 
event  of  historic  or  religious  importance,  to  which  all  the 
other  events  that  are  mentioned  are  subordinate,  mainly 
serving,  by  way  of  comparison  or  contrast,  to  give  it 
greater  prominence.  Notice  how  the  keynote  of  the 
whole  of  Homer's  "Odyssey  "  is  struck  and  foreshadowed 
in  its  opening  sentence: 

Tell  me,  O  muse,  of  that  sagacious  man 
Who,  having  overthrown  the  sacred  town 
Of  Ilium,  wandered  far  and  visited 
The  capitals  of  many  nations,  learned 
The  customs  of  their  dwellers,  and  endured 
Great  sufferings  on  the  deep;  his  life  was  oft 
In  peril,  as  he  laboured  to  bring  back 
His  comrades  to  their  homes. 

Bryant's  Trans, 


288  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

Usually,  the  principal  idea  in  a  symphony  or  a  poem  is 
embodied  in  a  principal  form.  This  may  be  a  certain 
kind  of  metre,  rhythm,  phrase,  or  verse  ;  but  notice  that, 
whatever  it  be,  it  constantly  involves  manifestations  of 
principality,  subordination,  and  balance.  In  metre,  the 
accented  note  or  syllable  is  the  principal  thing,  to  which 
the  unaccented  notes  or  syllables  are  subordinated  ;  and 
the  unaccented  syllables  balance  also  the  accented.  Con- 
secutive musical  phrases  usually  balance  one  another  by 
forming  alternating  upward  and  downward  movements. 
So  also  do  poetic  couplets,  especially  when  they  end  with 
rhymes.  All  through  music  and  poetry,  too,  we  find  a 
constant  tendency  to  secure  effects  of  balance  by  repeat- 
ing the  same  sounds  at  least  twice,  e.  g.  : 

Bright  bank  over  bank 
Making  glorious  the  gloom, 
Soft  rank  upon  rank, 
Strange  bloom  upon  bloom, 
They  kindle  the  liquid  low  twilight  and  dusk  of  the  dim  sea's  womb. 

Off  Shore  :  Swinburne. 

In  painting  and  sculpture  the  principal  object  is  some- 
times brought  into  prominence  by  being  made  largerthan 
the  subordinate  objects.  This  was  the  old  Egyptian 
method.  According  to  Miss  Edwards,  in  her  "  Thou- 
sand Miles  up  the  Nile,"  in  the  pictures  still  remaining 
in  the  tomb  of  Ti,  near  the  site  of  ancient  Memphis,  the 
figures  of  the  principal  character  are,  in  all  cases,  about 
eight  times  as  large  as  those  of  the  servants  represented 
as  at  work  around  him.  Sometimes,  as  in  some  of  the 
"Madonnas"  of  the  old  masters,  the  principal  figure, 
though  no  larger  in  itself,  is  made  to  have  a  larger  effect 
by  being  elevated  on  a  throne  or  in  clouds.  See  Ra- 
phael's "  Transfiguration,"  Fig.  54,  page  289.     Sometimes 


FIG  54— TRANSFIGURATION.— RAPHAEL. 

See  pages  242,  288,  295  and  298. 
289 


290  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

this  figure  is  in  the  foreground,  as  the  gladiator  in  G6- 
rome's  "  Pollice  Verso,"  Fig.  4,  page  41,  or  as  the  central 
character  in  Raphael's  "Ananias,"  Fig.  37,  page  233. 
Sometimes,  in  connection  with  these  other  methods,  the 
leading  outlines  of  pictures  are  made  to  radiate  from  the 
chief  figure,  as  from  the  Christ  in  the  air,  in  Raphael's 
tapestry  of  the  "  Conversion  of  St.  Paul  "  ;  or  from  the 
gladiator  in  Gerome's"  Poleice  Verso,"  Fig.  4,  page  41. 
Sometimes  a  figure  is  made  most  prominent  by  the  use  of 
colour,  as  by  red  drapery  given  to  the  Christ  in  Titian's 
"Scourging  of  Christ  "  ;  and  sometimes  by  a  use  of  light 
and  shade,  the  former  being  concentrated  where  it  will 
necessarily  attract  attention.  In  Rubens's  "  Descent  from 
the  Cross," Fig.  1,  frontispiece,  a  white  sheet,  the  whitest  ob- 
ject in  the  picture,  is  placed  behind  the  form  of  the  Christ. 
In  Correggio's  "  Holy  Night,"  all  the  brightness  in  the 
picture  is  reflected  from  that  which  illumines  the  face  of 
the  infant  Jesus.  It  is  needless  to  say  at  what  the  spec- 
tator looks  first  when  viewing  these  works.  Pie  at  once 
recognises  the  principality  of  the  form  about  which  all 
the  light  is  massed.  When,  in  either  painting  or  sculp- 
ture, the  whole  work  contains  but  a  single  figure,  the 
relative  prominence  of  merely  different  parts  of  this  must 
show  the  influence  of  these  methods.  In  the  woman  in 
Fig.  36,  page  231,  the  hand  upon  the  breast  seems  to  give 
principality  to  the  heart,  the  seat  of  the  affections.  The 
erect  head  on  the  "  Apollo,"  Fig.  23,  page  170,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  commanding  gesture,  gives  principality  to 
this,  the  seat  of  the  directing  power,  or  of  authority.  In 
architecture,  principality  is  attained  by  making  prominent 
a  porch,  as  in  Fig.  28,  page  219  ;  or  a  window,  as  in  Fig. 
29,  page  220;  or  domes  or  spires,  as  in  Fig.  79,  page  354 
or  Fig.  33,  page  226. 


BALANCE. 


29I 


The  numbers  of  ways  in  which  effects  of  balance  may 
be  secured  in  these  visible  arts,  especially  in  painting, 
seem  practically  infinite.  As  a  method,  too,  it  is  almost 
universal.  In  Gerome's  "  Pollice  Verso,"  Fig  4,  page  41, 
a  gladiator's  limbs  stretched  upon  the  ground  on  one  side 
of  his  triumphant  antagonist  are  exactly  balanced  by  the 
armour  that  has  been  stripped  from  them,  which  lies  on 
the  other  side  of  the  victor;  while  the  arm  of  the  latter, 
lifted  that  his  sword  may  strike,  is  balanced  by  his  vic- 
tim's arm  lifted  to  appeal  for  mercy.     In  the  first  case, 


FIG-    55.-A   SMALL   HOUSE. 
See  pages  293  and  302. 

we  have  an  instance  of  balance  produced  in  spite  of 
decided  contrast  between  the  balancing  members.  As 
exemplified  in  the  human  figure,  and  so  in  sculpture,  bal- 
ance can  never  be  fully  understood,  except  as  it  is  treated 
in  connection  with  both  symmetry  and  proportion.  Here 
it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  that,  as  a  rule,  in  order  to 
secure  variety, the  limbs  of  the  two  sides  of  the  body  should 
be  in  somewhat  different  positions.  If  this  arrangement 
be  adopted,  nature  requires  that  a  man  should  keep  his 
equilibrium,   and   art  that  he  should  seem  to  keep  it  by 


292 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


showing  an  exertion  in  one  direction  sufficient  to  counter- 
act that  made  in  the  other.  For  this  reason,  when  one  is 
gesturing,  or  appearing  to  gesture,  his  hands  and  head,  if 
the  latter  be  not  kept  erect,  should  make  counteracting 
movements.  The  head  should  move  toward  the  hands 
when  they  are  lifted,  and  away  from  them  when  they 
fall.     Or  if  he  be   posing,  and  an  arm  be  thrust  out  on 


FIG.   56.— WILLESDEN  CHURCH,    NEAR   LONDON. 
See  pages  293  and  302. 

one  side  of  him,  his  other  arm,  or  his  head  or  his  hip, 
should  be  thrust  out  on  his  other  side,  sufficiently  at  least 
to  secure  an  effect  of  equilibrium.  Notice  Fig.  42,  page 
237,  and  Fig.  45,  page  239.  The  necessity  in  art  of  seeming 
to  carry  out  such  requirements,  especially  where  postures 
are  unusual,  presents  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  which 
the  painter  or  sculptor  has  to  encounter. 


BALANCE.  293 

In  architecture,  it  is  possible  for  one  subordinate  feat- 
ure to  complement  the  principal,  as  a  wing,  or  porch,  or 
door  at  one  side  of  a  house  may  balance  the  whole  facade 
of  the  building  to  which  it  is  attached  (Fig  55,  page 
291) ;  or  as  a  tower  at  one  side  or  corner  may  offset  the 
body  of  a  church  (Fig.  56,  page  292).  However, 
such  arrangements  are  in  place  mainly  in  smaller 
buildings,  in  which  graceful  and  picturesque  effects  are 
desirable.  In  the  degree  in  which  a  building,  like  a 
church,  a  court-house,  or  a  school,  is  to  be  devoted  to  a 
serious  purpose,  it  should  convey  an  impression  of  dig- 
nity. In  art,  as  in  life,  this  effect  results  from  an  ap- 
pearance of  perfect  equilibrium.  In  architecture  it  is 
secured  in  the  degree  in  which  the  principal  entrance  is 
exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  facade,  with  an  equal  num- 
ber of  subordinate  features,  towers,  pillars,  or  openings, 
as  the  case  may  be,  on  either  side  of  it.  Notice,  as  ex- 
emplifying this  arrangement,  "  Cologne  Cathedral,"  Fig. 
33,  page  226;  the  "Taj  Mahal,"  Fig.  53,  page  281;  "St. 
Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227,  or  Fig.  79,  page  354. 

In  the  chart  on  page  277  it  was  intimated  that  princi- 
pality, subordination,  and  balance  together  cause  an  art- 
product  to  have  organic  form.  In  nature  an  organic  as 
distinguished  from  an  inorganic  form  is  one  of  greater 
or  lesser  degrees  of  complexity,  pervaded  everywhere  by 
channels  or  organs  through  which  flow  effects  that  influ- 
ence every  part  of  the  form,  but  of  it  only,  beyond  the 
contour  of  which  they  cease  to  operate.  Trees  and  ani- 
mals, for  instance,  with  their  various  circulatory  systems, 
are  organic.  Sand  and  clay  are  not.  To  say,  therefore, 
that  the  products  of  art  should  have  organic  form  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  they  should  be  characterised  by 
effects  analogous   to   those   produced    by   the    forms    of 


294 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 


objects  that  have  what  we  term  life.  This  statement  will 
cause  some  of  us  to  recall  that  Plato  named  head,  trunk, 
and  feet  as  the  three  essential  features  in  every  work  of 
art;  and  Aristotle,  recalling  the  fact  that  all  products  do 
not  appeal  to  the  eye,  and  cannot  seem  to  have  visible 
bodies,  tried  to  state  a  principle  more  general  in  its  reach 
by  declaring  that  they  should  all  have  beginning,  middle, 
and  end.  But  both  statements  are  virtually  the  same, 
and  together  are  inclusive  of  all  possible  artistic  applica- 
tions of  the  subject.  The  first  applies  literally  to  forms 
that  appear  in  space,  the  second  to  those  that  appear  in 
time.  Both  mean  that  there  should  be  such  an  order  in 
the  arrangement  of  the  parts  constituting  the  form  as  to 
cause  all  the  parts  to  seem  to  be  organically  connected 
with  one  whole,  and  this  whole  to  seem  to  possess  all  the 
parts  necessary  to  render  it  complete. 

This  is  a  principle  recognised  as  essential  in  every  art. 
Here,  for  instance,  are  the  various  elements  and  develop- 
ments of  a  musical  periodic  form,  as  given  by  Marx  in 
his  "Theory  and  Practice  of  Musical  Composition": 

Beginning  Middle  End 

Motion  Repose 

Scale  Tonic 

Repose  Motion 

Tonic  8va  Tonic  Scale 

Half  Cadence  Motion 

Motion  Repose 

Second  Part  Third  Part 

8  or  16  Meas.  8  Measures 

Motion  Repose 

Here  is  an  example  of  poetic  organic  form 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead  ; 

She  nor  svvoon'd,  nor  utter'd  cry  : 
All  her  maidens,  watching,  sa  d, 

"  She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 


Repose 
Tonic 
Tonic  Mass 


Repose 
Tonic 
Motion 
Tonic  Scale 
Motion 
Repose 
First  Part 
8  Measures 
Repose 


Repose 

Tonic 

Full  Cadence 


ORGANIC    FORM.  295 

Then  they  praised  him,  soft  and  low 

Call'd  him  worthy  to  be  loved, 
Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe  ; 

Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place, 

Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept, 
Took  the  face-cloth  from  the  face  : 

Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years. 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee — 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears — 

"  Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

The  Princess  :   Tennyson. 

The  most  uncultured  mind  recognises  the  superior  at- 
tractiveness of  paintings,  statues,  or  buildings  that  seem 
to  have  "some  head  and  tail," —  an  expression  indicating 
how  well  people  in  general  appreciate,  in  the  arts  appeal- 
ing to  sight,  the  characteristics  that  Plato  designated  by 
the  terms  head,  trunk,  and  feet.  In  arranging  a  number  of 
objects  or  individuals  to  be  represented  in  the  same  picture, 
an  artist  will  almost  invariably  place  the  larger  or  more 
prominent  in  the  centre  or  at  the  top,  thus  giving  the 
group  a  head  ;  and  the  others  on  either  side  or  below,  thus 
giving  it  a  trunk  and  feet ;  while  he  will  dispose  of  all  the 
members  in  such  ways  that  the  contour  of  the  group,  as 
outlined  by  all  their  forms  together,  shall  seem  to  have 
some  shape  —  that  suggesting  a  circle,  an  arch,  or  a  pyra- 
mid, as  the  case  may  be.  See  Fig.  8,  page  96;  Fig.  19, 
page  123,  and  Fig.  54,  page  289. 

In  architecture,  the  foundation  corresponds  to  the  foot, 
the  wall  to  the  trunk,  and  the  roof  to  the  head.  All  these 
features  taken  together  may  present  effects  of  grouping 
similar  to  those  in  painting  and  sculpture.  The  various 
projections,  gables,  pediments,   chimneys,  domes,  spires, 


296  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF   ^ESTHETICS. 

whatever  they  may  be,  that  make  up  the  wings  and  roofs, 
may  be  arranged  so  that,  taken  together,  they  can  be  in- 
scribed in  alow  or  a  high  arch,  rounded  or  sharpened  like 
a  pyramid.  As  a  rule,  the  greater  the  appearance  of  the 
exercise  of  design  in  the  organic  arrangement  of  these 
features,  the  more  satisfactory  are  they  to  the  eye  that 
looks  to  find  in  them  the  results  of  art.  (See  the  "  Chinese 
Temple,"  Fig  52,  page  280 ;  the  "Taj  Mahal,"  Fig.  53, 
page  281  ;  "St.  Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227,  and 
Fig.  79>  Page  354-) 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ART-COMPOSITION — CONTINUED. 

Congruity,  Incongruity,  and  Comprehensiveness  —  Central-Point,  Setting, 
and  Parallelism — In  Music  and  Poetry  —  In  Arts  of  Sights — Symmetry 
— Repetition,  Alteration,  and  Alternation  in  Music  and  Poetry — In 
Arts  of  Sights — Massing  in  Music  and  Poetry — Massing  or  Breadth  in 
Painting — Illustrations — In  Sculpture  and  Architecture — Interspersion 
and  Complication— Continuity — Music  and  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — 
Consonance — Distinguished  from  Congruity  and  Repetition — Disso- 
nance and  Interchange — The  Latter  in  Painting — Gradation  and  Ab- 
ruptness— In  Music  and  Poetry — Transition  in  Same  Arts — Gradation 
and  Abruptness  in  Colour — In  Outline — In  Architecture — Progress  in 
Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Completeness  of  this  An- 
alysis of  the  Methods  of  Art-Composition 

OF  the  remaining  methods  of  art-composition,  men- 
tioned in  the  chart  on  page  277,  the  grouping  of  fac- 
tors which  corresponds  to  such  classification  as  results  from 
connecting  objects  because  of  like  effects  produced  upon 
the  mind  by  way  of  association  or  suggestion,  is  termed  con- 
gruity (from  con,  together,  and  gruo,  to  grow  ).  It  means 
that  two  things  are  conceived  of  as  naturally  growing  or 
going  together ;  and  it  may  cause  them  to  be  connected 
when  in  reality  they  are  as  unlike  as  the  sounds  of  a  church 
bell  and  of  an  organ,  or  as  the  crape  of  a  widow's  garb  and 
a  white  face.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  show  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  variety  applied  to  congruity  leads  to  incongruity, 
or  that  both  together  lead  to  comprehensiveness.  For  in- 
stance, in  the  earliest  composed    overture  of    Wagner's 

297 


298  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

"  Tannhauser,"a  slow  choral,  representative  of  the  religious 
element,  is  at  first  entirely  interrupted  by  wild  contrasting 
movements,  representing  the  surgings  of  the  passions; 
then,  after  a  little,  it  reappears  again,  gains  strength,  and 
finally  by  main  force  seems  to  crush  the  others  down,  and  in 
the  final  strain  entirely  to  dominate  them.  Here,  in  the 
blending  of  the  most  intensely  spiritual  and  material  of 
motives,  is  incongruity,  and  with  it  a  comprehensiveness  in- 
cluding the  widest  extremes.  Yet  how  artistically  the  like 
features  are  grouped  with  like,  and  each  phase  of  expres- 
sion made  to  complement  the  other  ;  and  when  the  two 
clash,  how  principality  gets  the  better  of  what  would  else 
be  insubordinate,  and  reduces  all  to  order!  Again,  in  the 
upper  part  of  Raphael's  "  Transfiguration,"  Fig.  54,  page 
289,  supposed  to  represent  the  summit  of  a  mountain,  are 
the  glorified  forms  of  Christ,  Moses,  and  Elias,  prostrate  be- 
neath whom  are  three  apostles,  while  two  saints  kneel  rev- 
erently beside  them.  At  the  bottom  of  the  picture  are 
others  of  the  apostles,  supposed  to  be  not  so  near  the  sum- 
mit, endeavouring  in  vain,  amid  the  distress  and  conster- 
nation of  the  spectators,  to  cast  out  an  evil  spirit  from  a 
boy  whom  he  is  tormenting.  Few  can  fail  to  recognise  the 
antithetic  incongruity  both  of  thought  and  form  between 
the  two  parts  of  the  picture,  and,  together  with  this,  the 
grouping  of  like  with  like,  so  as  to  cause  the  one  part  to 
complement  the  other.  Besides  this,  and  because  of  it,  the 
picture  is  comprehensive,  as  would  not  otherwise  be  possible, 
of  the  entire  range  of  spiritual  power  on  earth,  all  the  way 
from  the  rapture  of  the  Christ  transfigured  by  the  power 
of  the  Deity  to  the  terror  of  the  boy  transfixed  by  that 
of  the  Devil. 

On  page  277  the  methods  mentioned  next  after  congruity, 
because  the  most  nearly  connected  with  it,  are  such  as 


CENTRAL   POINT  AND    PARALLELISM.  299 

have  to  do  with  dividing  up  the  time  and  space  occupied 
by  congruous  or  incongruous  features  in  ways  intended 
to  produce  effects  of  likeness,  in  spite  of  opposing  sug- 
gestions in  the  forms.  It  will  be  found,  for  instance,  that 
by  distributing  objects  on  lines,  real  or  ideal,  meeting  at  a 
central-point,  or  in  some  regular  way,  upon  a  circumferen- 
tial setting  for  this,  all  the  features  of  a  composition  can  be 
made  to  become,  in  almost  equal  degrees,  factors  of  the 
same  general  effect.  So,  by  adjustments  of  a  composition, 
a  relationship  by  means  of  parallelism  may  be  created,  say 
between  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  or  a  flute  and  the  rattle  of 
a  drum,  or  between  the  body  of  a  horse  and  the  road  over 
which  he  moves  ;  or  between  the  forms  of  bushes  and  of 
the  robes  of  men,  although,  at  the  same  time,  none  of  these 
things,  when  compared,  are  sufficiently  alike  in  themselves 
to  be  grouped  distinctively  by  way  of  repetition  or  conso- 
nance. The  same  is  true,  too,  of  the  representation  of  the 
balancing  of  the  outlines  or  accents  of  many  different 
features,  some  of  them  radically  unlike  in  many  regards, 
which  we  find  in  symmetry. 

In  music  and  poetry,  central-point  is  illustrated  by 
movements  or  words  that  seem  to  bring  everything  to  a 
climax  or  point,  as  we  say;  setting,  by  that  which  is  dis- 
cursive or  digressive;  and  parallelism,  by  simultaneous 
effects  or  movements  that  are  similar,  as  in  two  parts 
sung  in  unison  ;  two  phrases  repeating  the  same  theme  ; 
two  lines  expressing  the  same  idea,  or  forming  what  in 
poetry  is  called  a  couplet.  In  ancient  Hebrew  poetry, 
what  is  termed  parallelism  fulfilled  both  these  last 
two  requirements,  e.  g. : 

Thy  fierce  wrath  goeth  over  me  ; 

Thy  terrors  have  cut  me  off. 

They  came  round  about  me  daily  like  water  J 


300  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

They  compassed  me  about  together. 

Lover  and  friend  hast  thou  put  far  from  me, 

And  mine  acquaintance  into  darkness. 

Psalm  Ixxxviii.,  16,  /y,  18. 

If  we  apply  these  principles  to  form,  irrespective  of 
significance,  we  may  say  that  the  accents  are  like  so  many 
radiating  lines  that,  one  after  another,  keep  directing  at- 
tention to  the  movement — in  other  words,  pointing  to  it. 
The  unaccented  sounds,  again,  that  connect  the  accented, 
determining  as  they  do,  and  as  the  accents  do  not,  the 
particular  rhythm  or  metre,  whether  double  or  triple, 
may  be  said  to  furnish  the  form-setting,  while  the  series 
of  lines  or  phrases  correspond  exactly,  as  was  said  a 
moment  ago,  to  the  series  of  lines  that  produce  parallelism 
in  the  arts  of  sight.  The  resulting  organic-form  of  the 
movement,  as  secured  in  the  general  balance  throughout 
of  foot  and  line,  measures  the  degree  of  symmetry. 
These  analogies  are  so  evident  that  they  need  only  to  be 
stated. 

Central-point,  as  used  in  the  arts  of  sight,  is  merely  a 
development — sometimes,  as  is  the  case  with  many  effects 
in  art,  an  excessive  development — of  the  natural  fact  that 
two  points  in  the  extreme  distance  are  always  related  to 
two  points  equally  separated  but  nearer  us  in  such  a  way 
that,  if  there  were  parallel  lines  drawn  between  the  two 
pairs  of  points  and  extended  far  enough  into  space,  such 
lines  would  meet  in  the  distance  and  form  one  point.  See 
Fig.  2,  page  3.  An  excellent  illustration  of  the  methods  of 
applying  this  principle,  as  well  as  setting  and  parallelism, 
to  the  arts  of  sight  may  be  noticed  in  the  "  Pollice  Verso," 
Fig.  4,  page  41.  In  the  centre  of  this  picture  a  gladiator 
stands  with  his  heel  on  the  neck  of  a  prostrate  antagonist, 
and  looks  up  for  a  signal  to  save  the  life  which  is  at  his 


PARALLELISM.  301 

mercy.  With  scarcely  an  exception,  the  crowd  of  specta- 
tors, who  fill  an  amphitheatre  above,  answer  this  appeal 
by  stretching  a  hand  towards  the  gladiator,  with  the 
thumb  downward,  indicating  thus  their  desire  to  have  him 
show  no  mercy  to  his  fallen  antagonist.  Of  course,  all  the 
extended  arms,  by  pointing  as  they  do,  direct  attention  to 
the  gladiator  as  the  principal  object  of  interest,  and  also 
make  of  the  whole  picture  a  unity  both  in  thought  and 
form.  But,  in  addition  to  this,  the  horizontal  outlines 
in  the  front  wall  of  the  amphitheatre,  which  concentrate 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  perspective,  also  the  outlines 
of  a  pillar  of  the  amphitheatre  and  of  one  prominent 
division  between  its  benches,  as  well,  too,  as  the  outlines 
of  the  forms  of  two  gladiators  already  slain  and  lying  on 
the  ground, — all  these  are  given  such  directions  that 
they,  too,  point  toward  the  principal  figure.  Setting,  of 
course,  is  illustrated  in  the  lines  that  do  not  point  thus 
toward  a  common  centre.  Of  the  parallel  lines,  in  the 
painting  just  mentioned,  one  can  count  at  least  fifteen  that 
are  horizontal,  nine  of  them  formed  by  the  architectural 
work  with  rugs  hung  over  it,  which  is  in  front 
of  the  spectators,  and  six  by  the  bodies  of  gladiators 
lying  in  the  arena,  apparently  without  any  regard  to  the 
requirements  of  order,  just  where  they  have  been  slain. 
Besides  this,  in  the  same  picture  one  can  count,  including 
all  that  can  be  seen  in  pilasters,  pillars,  doors,  etc.,  almost 
sixty  of  these  lines  that  are  perpendicular.  Among  the 
figures  of  the  spectators,  at  least  six  extended  arms  are 
exactly  parallel;  so  is  the  dirk,  the  shield,  and  one  leg  of 
the  principal  figure;  and  his  arm  that  holds  the  dirk  is 
exactly  parallel  to  the  extended  arm  of  his  antagonist 
who  is  at  his  feet. 

Symmetry  may    be   defined   as    the    general    result  in 


302  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

organic  form  that  follows  a  due  regard  for  central-point, 
setting,  and  parallelism.  It  is  caused  often  by  a  balance, 
by  way  of  parallelism,  of  all  the  features  that  are  on  either 
side  of  a  common  centre.  Symmetry  involves  thus  the 
conception  of  many  pairs  of  balancing  features.  In  this 
sense  the  word  symmetrical  is  applied  by  way  of  designa- 
tion to  certain  paintings,  especially  those  of  the  early 
Italians,  in  which  there  are  precisely  as  many  figures  on 
one  side  of  the  principal  figure  as  on  the  other  side. 
Notice  Fig.  8,  page  96.  The  principle  of  variety,  however, 
which  we  find  everywhere  illustrated  in  nature  and  in  art 
must  not  be  supposed  to  be  entirely  inoperative  in  connec- 
tion with  symmetry.  The  two  sides  of  even  a  very  sym- 
metrical tree  do  not  exactly  correspond,  and  a  tree 
depicted  in  art  is  most  apt  to  have  the  appearance  of  life, 
if  the  same  be  true  of  it.  The  two  sides  of  a  man's  body 
are  more  nearly  alike  than  those  of  a  tree  ;  but  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  possesses  life  and  consequent  grace, 
they  will,  while  suggesting  likeness,  be  made  unlike  by 
the  positions  which  he  assumes.  Notice  the  gladiator  in 
Fig.  4,  page  41.  The  same  must  be  true,  to  some  extent, 
of  a  building.  As  was  said  on  page  293,  the  dignity  of 
effect  demanded  in  public  edifices  may  sometimes  neces- 
sitate absolute  similarity  on  both  sides  of  the  centre,  as 
in  the  "  Taj  Mahal,"  Fig.  53,  page  281  ;  Fig.  79,  page  354, 
or  "St.  Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227.  But  graceful 
effects,  such  as  are  desirable  in  household  architecture, 
may  sometimes  be  best  secured  by  difference,  as  in  the 
villa  in  Fig.  55,  page  291,  or  in  the  church  in  Fig.  56, 
page  292. 

The  art-grouping  which  corresponds  to  the  classifica- 
tion which  results  from  connecting  objects  because  of  like 
effects  produced  upon  the  senses,  i.  e.,  upon  the  ears  and 


ALTERATION  AND  ALTERNATION.  303 

eyes,  is  termed  repetition.  Alteration  is  the  form  of 
variety  which  prevents  monotony  when  using  repetition, 
and  alternation  that  which  produces  effects  of  repetition 
at  the  same  time  with  those  of  variety.  It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  illustrate  these  methods  or  their  importance. 
Repetition  has  already  been  noticed  on  pages  269  to  575. 
It  can  scarcely  be  mentioned  here  without  suggesting  at 
once  a  reason  for  the  motives,  measures,  phrases,  lines, 
verses,  alliterations,  assonances,  and  rhymes  of  music  and 
poetry.  All  these  illustrate,  too,  both  alteration  and 
alternation.  Notice  this  motive  from  Beethoven's  Sonata 
in  D  min.  Op.  31,  with  imitation  in  contrary  motion: 


JPiMiiglte 


Every  measure  in  poetry,  too,  has  its  alternating 
accented  and  unaccented  syllables,  and  its  upward  and 
downward  tones.  Notice  also  in  this  single  couplet,  the 
alliterations  (like  consonant  sounds),  assonances  (like  vowel 
sounds),  and  also  the  alterations  as  well  as  alternations 
between  hounds  and  horn  and  rouse  and  morn. 

Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerily  rouse  the  slumbering  morn. 

L' Allegro:  Milton. 

As  for  the  application  of  these  methods  in  the  arts  of 
sight,  it  is  only  necessary,  in  addition  to  what  was  said 
on  pages  279  and  280,  to  recall  for  the  reader  the  artistic 
effects  in  common  fringe  or  in  a  picket  fence,  or  in  a  row 
of  columns,  or  of  buttresses,  or  of  like  windows,  or  of 
trees,  to  cause  him  at  once  to  recognise  the  importance 
in  all  forms  of  artistic  elaboration  of  repetition  not  only, 
but  also — as  in  like  intervening  spaces — of  alteration  and 
alternation. 


304  THE  ESSENTIALS  0E  .ESTHETICS. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  methods  on  page  277  termed 
massing,  interspersion,  complication,  and  continuity.  Mass- 
ing is  the  result  of  repetition  when  many  like  features  are 
brought  together  in  order  to  form  a  central-point  of 
interest.  In  music,  it  is  this,  as  exemplified  in  the 
accumulations  of  the  effects  of  the  same  notes,  chords, 
or  instruments,  that  enables  us  to  recognise  the  peculi- 
arities distinguishing  passages  that  are  loud  or  soft, 
forcible  or  light,  gay  or  pathetic;  while  without  it  and 
its  reiterated  repetitions,  the  musical  cadence  or  climax 
as  heard  at  the  ends  of  compositions  or  of  prominent 
movements,  would  produce  little  impression.  In  poetry, 
massing  is  illustrated  in  passages  in  which  all  the  quali- 
ties that  render  an  object  or  character  distinctive 
seem  summed  up,  as  in  the  following: 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  man  !  How  noble  in  reason  !  How  infinite  in 
faculties  !  In  form  and  moving  how  express  and  admirable  !  In  action 
how  like  an  angel !      In  apprehension  how  like  a  god  ! 

Hamlet,  z'i.,  2:  Sliakespeare. 

The  term  massing,  together  with  the  term  breadth 
which  latter  seems  to  indicate  that  which  is  the  result  of 
the  former,  is  applied  more  commonly  to  effects  in  the 
arts  that  are  seen  than  in  those  that  are  heard.  Some 
seem  to  suppose,  too,  that  both  terms  should  be  confined 
to  effects  connected  with  light  and  shade  whereby  bright 
features  are  put  with  bright,  and  dark  with  dark.  As  a 
result  of  such  arrangements,  a  breadth  of  distance  seems 
to  separate  the  objects  in  light  from  those  in  shade,  and 
a  corresponding  breadth  of  view  seems  to  be  afforded 
him  who  sees  them;  hence  the  term  breadth.  In  secur- 
ing this  effect,  the  artist  does  not  arbitrarily  make 
objects  bright  or  dim  in  order  to  have  them  correspond 
to  the  bright  or  dim  parts  of    the  picture  in  which  he 


CHIAROSCURO.  305 

wishes  to  place  them.  He  exercises  ingenuity  and  skill 
in  arranging  his  materials  so  as  to  bring  into  the  light 
objects  that  in  nature  are  bright  or  dim,  or  that  can  be 
made  so  in  nature  by  the  presence  or  absence  of  an 
illuminating  agent.  Besides  this,  too,  he  arranges  the 
light  so  as  to  fall  where  it  will  prove  most  effective.  In 
Titian's  "Entombment,"  it  is  made  to  illumine  a  figure 
in  the  foreground,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  sun 
is  represented  as  setting  in  the  background.  The  painter 
produces  the  effect  by  supposing  the  sun's  rays  to  be 
reflected  from  a  cloud  in  advance  of  the  field  of  vision. 
Notice  also  what  was  said  on  page  290  of  the  way  in  which 
the  light  is  massed  by  Rubens  in  his  "Descent  from  the 
Cross"  (Fig.  1,  frontispiece),  and  by  Correggio  in  his 
"Holy  Night."  Effects  of  light  and  shade,  especially  of 
those  produced  thus  through  massing,  are  usually  treated 
by  writers  upon  art  under  the  term  of  chiaro-oscuro, 
or  chiaroscuro. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that,  in  any  given 
picture,  there  may  not  be  more  than  one  place  where 
there  is  light  and  one  place  where  there  are  shadows. 
According  to  Reynolds  (Note  xxxix.  on  "The  Art  of 
Painting"),  there  may  be  three  masses  of  light,  one  of 
which,  however,  he  would  make  more  prominent  than 
the  other  two,  thus  causing  all  three  together  to  fulfil 
the  methods  of  both  principality  and  balance.  ' '  Pictures, " 
says  S.  P.  Long  in  his  "Art,  Its  Laws,  and  the  Reasons 
for  Them,"  Essay  VI., — "Pictures  possessing  breadth  of 
the  general  light  and  dark  or  shade  are  not  only  very 
effective,  but  they  likewise  give  great  repose  to  the  eye; 
whereas,  where  the  lights  and  darks  are  in  small  portions, 
and  much  divided,  the  eye  is  disturbed  and  the  mind 
rendered  uneasy,  especially  if  one  is  anxious  to  under- 
20 


306  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

stand  every  object  in  a  composition,  as  it  is  painful  to 
the  ear,  if  we  are  anxious  to  hear  what  is  said  in  com- 
pany, where  many  are  talking  at  the  same  time.  Hence 
the  reason  why  portraits  make  a  more  pleasing 
picture  when  but  few  objects  are  introduced  into  the 
composition  than  when  the  person  is  covered  with  frills 
and  ruffles,  and  the  background  stuffed  like  a  'curiosity 
shop.'  Concerning  the  same  subject   Ruskin  says  in 

his  "  Elements  of  Drawing,"  Letter  III.:  "Such  com- 
positions possess  higher  sublimity  than  those  which  are 
more  mingled  in  their  elements.  They  tell  a  special  tale 
and  summon  a  definite  state  of  feeling.  We  have  not  in 
each  gray  colour  set  against  sombre,  and  sharp  forms 
against  sharp,  and  low  passages  against  low  ;  but  we  have 
the  dark  picture  with  its  single  ray  of  relief;  the  stern 
picture  with  only  one  lender  group  of  lines;  the  soft  and 
calm  picture  with  only  one  rock  angle  at  its  flank,  and 
so  on." 

Both  these  quotations  show  that  their  writers  include 
among  the  effects  of  massing  those  of  outline  as  well  as 
of  colour.  Thus  interpreted,  we  may  perceive  how  the 
effects  may  be  produced  both  in  sculpture  and  in  archi- 
tecture. In  the  latter,  an  exact  correspondence  to 
massing  in  painting  may  be  perceived  in  some  of  the 
older  castles  and  even  churches  of  Europe,  where  all  the 
decoration  connected  with  the  forms  is  concentrated 
about  a  tower,  or  a  gateway,  or  a  door,  or  all  of  these 
together,  on  each  side  of  which  is  merely  a  wall  entirely 
blank  or  pierced  with  non-ornamental  openings. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  dwelling  in  this  place  upon 
inter spersion.  In  all  the  arts  it  is  the  opposite  of  mass- 
ing, and  is  sufficiently  illustrated  in  what  is  said  on  pages 
181  and  182  of  the  picturesque.   The  term  complication,  like 


COM  PLICA  TION.  307 

parallelism,  continuity,  and  many  others  that  are  used  in 
art,  is  borrowed  from  the  relationships  of  lines.  It  means 
a  folding  or  blending  together  primarily  of  these,  but, 
secondarily,  of  any  forms.  Evidently,  too,  it  involves, 
like  massing,  the  presence  in  large  quantities  of  the 
features  to  which  it  is  applied.  In  fact,  the  greater 
the  number  of  themes  or  phrases,  say,  in  a  symphony,  the 
more  complicated,  as  a  rule,  are  its  movements;  and 
the  greater  the  number  of  trees  or  rocks  in  a  landscape,  the 
more  complicated,  as  a  rule,  are  the  factors  composing 
it.  But  while  this  is  true,  these  factors,  if  complicated  in 
an  artistic  manner,  may  always  be  presented  in  a  certain 
order.  "When,"  says  Charles  Blanc,  in  his  "Ornament 
in  Art  and  Dress,"  "the  surface  ornamented  according 
to  Arabian  taste  has  no  dominant  subject  indicated  by 
its  isolation  or  by  its  colour,  the  spectator  has  only  before 
him  an  assemblage  regularly  confused  of  triangles,  loz- 
enges, wheels,  half-moons,  trefoils,  imperfect  pentagons, 
and  unfinished  meanders,  which  penetrate,  intersect,  bal- 
ance, and  correspond  to  each  other,  approach  to  retreat, 
and  touch  one  moment  to  depart  the  next,  and  dissolve 
themselves  in  a  labyrinth  without  outlet  and  without 
end.  The  Arabs  have  thus  realised  the  strange  phenom- 
enon which  consists  in  producing  an  apparent  disorder 
by  means  of  the  most  rigid  order." 

If  we  allow  any  single  feature  entering  into  complication 
—  one  of  its  lines,  say — to  be  interrupted  as  it  must  be 
wherever  an  application  of  the  method  of  intcrspersion 
causes  another  feature  or  line  to  cross  it  and  for  a  time 
to  take  its  place,  that  which  conveys  to  us  an  impression 
of  unity  notwithstanding  intcrspersion  is  the  reappearance 
of  the  feature  or  line  that  has  disappeared.  This  con- 
tinued reappearance  of  the  same   line  or  feature   is  an 


308  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

effect  of  continuity.  Continuity  makes  a  composition 
which  begins  in  one  way,  in  either  time  or  space,  keep 
on  in  the  same  way  to  its  end.  Just  as  symmetry  tends 
to  cause  all  parts  of  an  outlined  form  to  be  equally 
balanced  about  a  common  centre,  continuity  tends  to 
cause  them  all  to  be  equally  connected  with  a  common 
mass  or  materiality.  All  musical  or  poetical  compo- 
sitions, especially  those  of  the  latter  that  have  occult 
and  intricately  developed  plots,  manifest,  of  course, 
more  or  less  of  complication  and  a  tendency  to  inter- 
spcrsion.  The  important  matter,  in  such  cases,  is  to 
have  one  aim  so  running  through  and  pervading  the 
parts  that  all  can  be  recognised  to  have  continuity.  Here 
is  a  very  literal  example  of  both  complication  and  con- 
tinuity in  poetic  form : 

Here  we  arc  riding  the  rail, 

Gliding  from  out  of  the  station  ; 
Man  though  I  am,  I  am  pale, 

Certain  of  heat  and  vexation. 
Gliding  from  out  of  the  station, 

Out  from  the  city  we  thrust  ; 
Certain  of  heat  and  vexation, 

Sure  to  be  covered  with  dust. 
From  En  Route,  A  Pantoum  by  Brander  Matthews. 

In  the  arts  of  sight,  the  idea  to  be  specially  held  in 
mind  in  connection  with  continuity  is  that  it  is  an  ele- 
ment of  unity.  So  if  in  a  foreground  there  be  a  row  or 
group  of  trees  stretching  backward  interrupted  by  a  plain, 
it  is  well  if,  farther  back,  the  same  line  of  direction  be 
carried  on,  if  not  by  trees,  then,  say,  by  a  river,  and  still 
farther  in  the  extreme  distance,  by  the  side  of  a  hill  or 
by  a  path  upon  this  hill,  See  the  way  in  which  such 
lines  are  continued  across  the  entire  canvas  in  Turner's 
"Decline    of    Carthage,"     Fig.     57,  page    309.       Similar 


3IO  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

arrangements  may  characterise  figures  as  represented  in 
either  painting  or  sculpture.  Notice  this  in  the  direc- 
tions taken  by  the  different  limbs  of  the  figures  in  the 
"Laocoon,"  Fig.  19,  page  123.  In  architecture,  every 
one  must  have  observed  that,  as  a  rule,  we  derive  much 
satisfaction  from  a  building  in  which  the  window-caps  in 
the  same  story  and  the  window-sides  in  all  the  stories 
form  together  one  often  interrupted,  but  yet  continuous 
line.  Notice  the  University  at  Sydney  (Fig.  21,  page 
127);  also  the  lines  in  the  groined  ceiling  in  Beverley 
Minster  (Fig.  51,  page  266). 

The  art-grouping  which  corresponds  to  the  classifica- 
tion which  results  from  connecting  objects  because  alike 
in  part  by  way  both  of  congruity  and  of  repetition  is 
termed  consonance.  This  word  is  borrowed  from  music, 
and  it  applies  to  the  conditions  which  we  now  wish  to 
represent  by  it  far  more  exactly  than  those  who  first  used 
it  supposed.  A  consonant  tone  goes  with  another  in  art, 
not  only  because  men  have  found  the  two  going  togetJicr 
in  that  which,  when  heard  in  nature,  is  termed  harmony; 
but  also,  as  will  be  shown  on  pages  362  to  365,  because 
the  one  tone  is  in  part  actually  repetitious  of  the  other, 
both  being  compounded  in  part  of  like  tones. 

It  may  be  well  to  add  here,  in  illustration  of  these 
different  methods  of  likening  factors,  that  congruity 
might  cause  the  artist  to  associate  in  a  product  things  as 
different  essentially  as  rouge  on  a  cheek  and  blondined 
hair,  or  a  hunting  song  and  the  sound  of  a  horn;  that 
repetition,  on  the  contrary,  would  demand  as  much  like- 
ness as  in  the  allied  factors  of  a  piece  of  fringe,  or  of  a 
picket-fence;  while  consonance,  half-way  between  the  two, 
would  be  satisfied  were  he  to  unite  sounds  as  different  in 
some  regards  as  are  those  of  the  flute,  the  trumpet,  the 


IN  TER  CHA  NGE.  3 1 1 

violin,  and  the  drum,  or  shapes  as  different  in  some  re- 
gards as  are  those  of  a  chimney  and  a  tower,  or  a  window 
and  a  porch.  In  architecture,  a  porch  or  a  bay-window 
on  one  side  of  a  building,  and  a  wing  or  hot-house  on 
the  other  side  of  it,  might  be  alike  by  way  of  congruity. 
Windows  and  doors  of  the  same  sizes  and  shapes  would 
be  alike  by  way  of  repetition;  but  merely  a  similar  pitch 
of  angles  over  windows  and  doors  and  in  the  gables  of 
a  roof  above  them,  would  be  enough  to  make  all  alike 
by  way  of  consonance. 

Dissonance  need  not  be  discussed  here.  It  is  the 
opposite  of  consonance  in  the  same  sense  in  which  variety 
is  the  opposite  of  unity,  and  confusion  the  opposite  of 
order.  In  music,  dissonant  effects  are  introduced  through 
the  use  of  gongs  and  drums  and  occasional  chords  of  the 
seventh  or  the  ninth,  which  last  are  made  features  of  har- 
mony through  the  counteracting  influence  of  interchange. 
This  latter  is  exerted  in  fulfilment  of  a  principle  ex- 
plained on  page  365  of  this  volume,  in  accordance  with 
which,  when  one  chord  passes  into  another,  at  least  one 
note  in  both  chords  is,  as  a  rule,  the  same. 

Interchange  in  painting  is  thus  illustrated  by  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds.  "If,  in  the  'Bacchus  and  Ariadne'  of 
Titian, ' '  he  says,"  we  supposed  two  bits  of  colour  omitted, 
namely,  the  red  scarf  of  Ariadne  in  the  upper  and  colder 
portion  of  the  picture,  and  a  blue  drapery  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  a  nymph  in  the  lower  and  warmer  portion,  it 
would  leave  the  composition  divided  into  two  masses  of 
colour,  the  one  hot  and  the  other  cold ;  the  warm  portion 
comprehending  the  reds,  yellows,  and  browns  of  the 
foreground,  and  the  cold  portion  comprehending  the 
blues,  grays,  and  greens  of  the  sky  and  trees;  and  this, 
as  in  the  rainbow  with  the  green  omitted,  would  be  pro- 


312  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

ductive  of  great  breadth,  but  it  would  be  destructive  of 
union  and  consequently  of  harmony,  for  it  would  leave 
the  cold  and  warm  colours  as  entirely  unconnected  as 
though  they  were  separate  designs  on  one  canvas.  To 
correct  this,  and  restore  the  union,  Titian  has  carried  up 
the  warm  tints  of  the  foreground  into  the  sky  or  cold 
portion  of  the  picture  by  means  of  the  red  scarf  on  the 
shoulders  of  Ariadne,  and  brought  down  the  cold  tints 
of  the  sky  into  the  foreground  by  the  blue  mantle  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  nymph  in  the  lower  or  warmer  portion 
of  the  picture;  and  thus,  by  dividing  the  painting  into 
masses  of  warm  and  cold  colours  has  preserved  the  great- 
est breadth;  by  the  opposition  of  warm  and  cold  colours 
has  increased  their  splendour  ;  by  exchanging  those  of  one 
side  for  those  of  another,  as  just  stated,  has  produced 
union  and  harmony;  and,  at  the  same  time,  preserved 
that  variety  so  characteristic  of  nature's  colouring." 

The  final  methods  mentioned  in  the  chart  on  page  277 
are  gradation,  abruptness,  transition,  and  progress.  By 
the  first  of  these  is  meant  an  arrangement  causing  one 
form  to  differ  from  a  second  according  to  the  same  mode 
and  sometimes  degree  in  which  this  second  differs  from 
a  third,  between  which  and  the  first  the  second  is  situ- 
ated. In  consonance,  as  we  have  found,  forms  are  never 
exactly  alike;  and  if,  in  order  to  secure  the  effect  of 
unity,  we  try  to  arrange  them  so  as  to  seem  alike,  we 
are  necessarily  led  into  gradation,  a  method  sustaining, 
for  this  reason,  the  same  relation  to  consonance  as  prin- 
cipality to  comparison,  central-point  to  congruity,  and 
massing  to  repetition.  As  is  the  case  with  all  the  meth- 
ods to  which  it  corresponds,  gradation  in  art  does  not 
exist  without  its  antithesis,  which  may  be  termed 
abruptness.     By  this  is  meant  a   sudden    unforetokened 


GRADATION.  313 

change  from  one  theme,  key,  colour,  or  outline,  to  an- 
other. Of  course,  a  composition  in  which  there  is  much 
of  it  can  have  but  little  unity.  In  spite  of  occasional 
abruptness,  however,  changes  may  take  place  sufficiently 
in  accordance  with  the  tendencies  of  gradation  to  form 
a  nexus  between  what  precedes  and  what  follows,  so 
that,  in  spite  of  the  change,  every  one  can  perceive  the 
connection  of  the  one  part  with  the  other.  This  nexus 
is  called  a  transition.  Finally,  consonance,  dissonance, 
interchange,  gradation,  abruptness,  and  transition,  all 
together  and  in  different  ways  when,  on  the  whole, 
there  is  a  continued  forward  movement,  result  in  artistic 
progress. 

In  music  and  poetry  we  find  illustrations  of  gradation  in 
all  the  elements  that  enter  into  sound,  namely,  time, 
force,  pitch,  and  quality.  We  notice  it  wherever  we  find 
great  regularity  of  time  or  rhythm,  with  the  gradual  swell- 
ing and  sinking,  and  rising  and  falling,  of  the  accent  and 
pitch  which  necessarily  accompany  such  a  rhythm.  In 
poetry  there  is  a  phase  of  the  method  termed  phonetic 
gradation.  This  is  produced  by  an  arrangement  of  vowels 
or  consonants  such  as  to  cause  their  sounds  to  follow 
one  another  in  the  order  in  which  articulation  necessitates 
the  opening  of  the  vocal  passages  of  the  mouth  more  and 
more  from  the  lips  backward,  or  else  more  and  more 
from  the  back  of  the  mouth  forward; — more  and  more, 
that  is,  as  in  the  series  of  vowels  in  the  words  meet,  met, 
it,  ate,  at,  care,  but,  kite,  are,  got,  aught,  out,  foot,  lute, 
boot,  butcher,  ooze;  or  as  in  the  series  of  consonants  re- 
presented by  b,  (p),  m,  n,  w,  v,  (f),  d,  (t),  th,  z,  1,  r,  j, 
(ch),  g,  (k)  h;  or  else  as  in  series  of  vowels  or  conso- 
nants the  reverse  of  these.  In  the  following  lines  the 
gradation    of   vowels  on  the  emphatic  syllables  is  from 


314  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

what  we  may  term,  as  thus  explained,  the  front  tones  to 
the  back  tones : 

Here  where  never  came,  alive,  another. 

By  the  North  Sea:  S-uinburn 

'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

In  Memoriam:    Tennyson. 

Abruptness  in  music  or  poetry  results,  of  course, 
wherever  there  are  sudden  interruptions  and  changes  in 
either  theme  or  form,  and  of  these  in  either  time,  force, 
pitch,  or  quality,  and  in  either  rhythm,  melody,  or 
harmony,  e.g. : 

I  marched  to  the  villa,  and  my  men  with  me 
That  evening,  and  we  reach  the  door  and  stand, 
I  say — no  it  shoots  through  me  lightning-like 
While  I  pause,  breathe,  my  hand  upon  the  latch. 

The  Ring  and  the  Book:  Brozvning. 

Transition  in  music  is  a  passage  from  one  key  to  an- 
other. It  sometimes  necessitates  using  a  series  of  chords 
in  which  there  are  effects  like  those  of  interchange,  as 
explained  on  page  311  ;  and  it  always  necessitates  some 
application  of  the  principle  of  gradation.  But  besides 
this  it  necessitates  using  certain  chords  in  the  new  key, 
and  these,  too,  in  a  certain  order.  The  reason  of  this  is 
that  the  ear  has  become  so  accustomed  to  the  order  of 
the  notes  in  the  musical  scale  and  of  the  chords  that  har- 
monise them,  that  it  is  only  when  it  hears  these  latter  in 
succession  that  it  can  recognise  in  what  key  the  music  is 
or,  if  there  have  been  a  transition,  to  what  key  this  has 
been  made.  In  the  music  on  page  364,  illustrating  the 
common  method  of  making  transitions  from  the  major 
key  of  C  natural  to  all  the  other  keys,  it  will  be  noticed 
that  every  chord  in  the  transition  carries  out  the  princi- 


GRADATIOX.  31$ 

pie  of  putting  like  with  like  by  containing  at  least  one 
note  which  is  the  same  as  one  in  the  preceding  chord. 
Every  chord,  too,  immediately  preceding  that  of  the 
key-note  of  the  new  key  contains  either  the  re  which, 
in  singing  down  the  scale,  or  the  si  which,  in  singing 
up  the  scale,  naturally  comes  immediately  before  the  do, 
i.  <.,  before  the  key-note.      See  page  1^1. 

There  is  no  need  here  of  emphasising  the  importance 
of  progress  either  in  music  or  in  poetry.  We  pass  on  to 
consider  gradation,  abruptness,  transition,  and  progress  as 
manifested  in  the  art  of  sight.  First,  as  exemplified  in 
the  use  of  colour.  Owing  to  the  operation  in  outline, 
distance,  and  texture,  of  light  and  shade  and  of  variety, 
there  is  hardly  a  square  inch  in  the  field  of  vision  in 
which  the  colours  appear  to  be  absolutely  the  same.  To 
quote  from  Rood's  " Modern  Chromatics  " :  "One  of 
the  most  important  characteristics  of  colour  in  nature  is 
the  endless,  almost  infinite,  gradations  which  always 
accompany  it.  If  a  painter  represent  a  sheet  of  paper  in 
a  picture  by  a  uniform  white  or  gray  patch,  it  will  seem 
quite  wrong,  and  cannot  be  made  to  look  right  till  it  is 
covered  by  delicate  gradations  of  light  and  shade  and 
colour.  Ruskin,  speaking  of  gradation  of  colour,  says: 
1  It  does  not  matter  how  small  the  touch  of  colour  ma)*  be, 
though  not  larger  than  the  smallest  pin's  head,  if  one 
part  of  it  is  not  darker  than  the  rest,  it  is  a  bad  touch.'  " 
Notwithstanding  the  constant  application  in  art  of  the 
principle  of  gradation,  there  are  occasional  places  in  which 
one  colour  needs  to  be  sharply  contrasted  with  another, 
and  this  necessitates  the  effect  termed  abruptness.  Ab- 
ruptness is  always  present,  for  instance,  when  an  object 
in  bright  light  is  placed,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  against 
its  own  shadow.     (See  Fig.  2,  page  3.)     In  Rembrandt's 


3  I  6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

V Woman  Accused  by  the  Pharisees,"  the  woman  accused 
is  robed  in  white  and  in  the  centre  of  the  chief  light. 
Her  accuser  stands  at  her  side  clothed  in  black.  Of 
course,  we  have  here,  necessarily,  the  greatest  possible 
contrast  and  abruptness.  But  evidently  this  does  not 
interfere  either  with  the  most  exact  fulfilment  of  the 
principles  of  complement  and  consonance  or  with  the  most 
delicate  kind  of  gradation  used  as  a  principal  and  general 
method. 

Gradation  is  manifested  also  in  the  use  of  lines,  as,  for 
instance,  in  series  of  curves  and  angles,  the  different 
sides  of  which  in  regular  degrees  make  a  transition  from 
exact  parallelism.  In  his  cartoon  depicting  "The  Death 
of  Ananias"  (Fig. 37,  page  233),  Raphael  causes  the  terror 
of  the  principal  figure  to  be  manifested  in  similar  atti- 
tudes of  the  figures  on  both  sides,  but  as  they  gradually 
recede  into  the  background,  their  expressions  and  atti- 
tudes become  less  and  less  indicative  of  the  feeling  at  the 
centre  of  interest.  In  fulfilment  of  the  same  method, 
both  in  painting  and  in  sculpture,  the  hundreds  of  curves 
that  together  constitute  the  contour  of  the  human  body 
are  made  to  pass  into  one  another,  causing  its  members 
gradually  to  expand  or  taper.  Yet  there  are  places,  as 
at  the  heel,  where  the  transitions  are  very  abrupt.  The 
number  of  these  is  often  increased  with  great  effect  by 
the  introduction,  in  connection  with  both  living  figures 
and  of  foliage,  of  scarfs,  bands,  girdles,  and  folds  in  the 
drapery,  or  of  rectangular  lines  of  architecture  which  in 
pillars,  entablatures,  niches,  and  pedestals  surround  or 
support  the  figures.     (See  Fig.  22,  page  167.) 

Both  these  methods  have  a  place,  too,  in  architecture. 
All  must  have  noticed  that  perpendicular  lines  when  car- 
ried into  the  air,  as  in  the  case  of  two  sides  of  a  square 


GRADA  T/OJV  ftf  ARCHITECTURE.  3  1 7 

tower,  seem  to  approach  each  other;  also  that  when  two 
sides  of  a  roof  actually  touch,  they  support  each  other 
Evidently,  artists  are  only  carrying  out  hints  from  these 
facts  when  they  widen  the  sides  of  a  tower's  base  and  make 
them  narrower  at  the  top,  thus  increasing  its  apparent 
height;  or  when  they  cause  the  sides  actually  to  meet  in 
the  spire  or  steep  gable  at  its  top,  thus  increasing  also 
the  ease  of  construction.  Many  great  buildings,  like  the 
cathedrals  and  palaces  of  Europe,  are  designed  according 
to  the  first  of  these  methods.  The  basements  are  made 
visibly  broader  than  the  superstructures,  and  the  lines  of 
enclosure,  as  they  are  carried  up  at  both  sides,  are  gradu- 
ally brought  nearer  together.  See  Cologne  Cathedral, 
Fig.  33,  page  226.  The  method  of  gradation  is  illustrated 
also  in  those  cases  so  frequent  in  Gothic  architecture  (see 
again  Fig.  33),  in  which  over  the  same  opening  a  round 
arch  is  used  immediately  below  a  pointed  arch;  also  in 
some  great  buildings  in  which  the  arches  over  the  open- 
ings of  the  first  story  are  nearly  horizontal,  those  of  the 
second  or  third  more  rounded,  and  those  of  the  upper 
story  pointed. 

Turning  now  to  progress,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to 
understand  how  this  may  be  secured  in  poetry  and 
music,  the  forms  of  which  consist  of  words  and  sounds 
necessitating  movement.  But  in  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture  there  is  no  literal  movement.  Nevertheless, 
in  these  progress  may  be  suggested.  That  which  is 
represented  in  Raphael's  "Death  of  Ananias"  (Fig.  37, 
page  233)  could  take  place  at  one  moment  of  time.  Yet 
at  this  moment  the  idea,  forcibly  impressing  those  near- 
est the  principal  figure,  has  not  taken  possession  of  those 
remote  from  him.  The  picture  represents,  therefore, 
different    stages    of  progress  in  the  development  of  the 


3  I S  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

idea,  or  of  the  influence  exerted  by  it;  and  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  conceive  of  any  painting  or  statue,  however 
small,  in  which  the  progress  of  the  idea  in  its  advance  to 
take  possession  of  the  whole  body  of  the  subject  or  sub- 
jects might  not  be  represented  in  an  analogous  way. 

Nor  is  it  less  oossible  to  represent  the  effects  of  pro- 
gress in  buildings.  In  many  of  the  English  cathedrals 
the  whole  development  of  Gothic  architecture  from  the 
Norman,  through  the  pointed,  decorated,  and  perpendic- 
ular, can  be  traced  literally  in  the  different  forms  used  in 
different  parts.  But  progress  in  such  a  literal  sense  is  not 
consistent  with  unity.  When,  according  to  the  method 
of  gradation  described  a  moment  ago,  one  form  of  arch 
is  used  above  the  lower  openings,  and  another  sharper 
development  of  the  same  over  higher  openings,  and  an- 
other still  sharper  over  the  highest,  we  have  a  represen- 
tation of  progress  of  a  more  desirable  kind.  So,  too,  we 
have  the  same  in  the  interior  of  a  cathedral,  when  the 
arches  above  seem  to  grow  like  limbs  of  trees  out  of 
the  shafts  below  them,  and  when  the  chancel  beyond  the 
nave,  to  which  so  many  lines  of  the  walls  and  ceiling 
point,  seems,  with  its  finer  elaboration  of  the  resources 
of  outline  and  its  grander  wealth  of  colour  in  window  and 
altar,  to  burst  upon  the  vision  like  a  flower,  for  which 
all  the  rest  has  furnished  only  a  splendid  preparation  for 
unfoldment.  In  these  and  other  ways,  there  are  build- 
ings so  constructed  that  they  seem  to  be  almost  as  much 
the  results  of  growth  and,  in  this  sense,  of  progress  as  do 
products  of  nature  with  which  we  are  accustomed  to  asso- 
ciate the  two. 

At  the  opening  of  Chapter  XIV.,  it  was  shown  that 
the  first  efforts  of  the  mind  in  the  direction  of  art-compo- 
sition   are  made  for  the  purpose  of  securing   effects  of 


UNITY  AND  PROGRESS.  319 

unity ,  in  order  to  accommodate  the  result  to  the  require- 
ments of  human  conception.  It  was  shown  also  that  the 
occasion  for  these  efforts  arises  from  the  variety  every- 
where characterising  the  natural  forms  of  which  the  artist 
is  obliged  to  construct  his  products.  Everything  that 
has  been  unfolded  since  this  was  said,  has  had  to  do  with 
methods  of  arrangement  through  which  factors  of  a  form, 
while  exhibiting  variety,  can,  nevertheless,  be  made  to 
exhibit  unity.  But  in  none  of  these  methods  has  there 
been  necessitated  such  an  absolute  blending  of  the  ap- 
pearances of  the  two  as  in  progress.  In  this  the  variety 
which  in  most  of  the  arrangements  is  accepted  as  a  neces- 
sary and  accidental  evil  becomes  essential.  There  can 
be  no  progress  except  of  something  that  is  clearly  recog- 
nised to  be  a  unity.  But  it  is  equally  true  that  there  can 
be  none  except  as  that  which  is  a  unity  is  perceived  to 
be  characterised  by  variety  also.  In  progress,  therefore, 
all  the  methods  of  art-composition  that  we  have  been 
considering  seem  to  culminate.  Before  leaving  this  sub- 
ject it  would  be  well  for  the  reader  to  recall  what  was 
said  on  page  33  with  reference  to  the  relation  between 
art-composition  as  explained  in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. 
and  the  requirements  of  beauty  as  discussed  in  Chapter 
II.  An  examination  of  the  Appendix,  too,  page  387,  will 
reveal  that  all  these  methods  of  composition  fulfil  exactly 
the  underlying  condition  of  assimilation  which  the  great 
majority  of  physiological  psychologists  deem  requisite  tc 
the  effects  of  beauty. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

RHYTHM    AND    PROPORTION. 

Rhythm  not  Originated  by  Art — It  Exists  in  Nature — In  Nerve  Action- 
Required  by  the  Natural  Action  of  the  Mind — Elements  of  Rhythm 
Existing  in  Speech — How  Developed  in  Metre  and  Verse — In  Music 
— Poetic  Measures — General  Comment — Meaning  of  Proportion — Re- 
sult of  a  Natural  Tendency  to  Make  Like  Measurements — Manifested 
Everywhere — Proportion  in  Nature — An  Important  Art-Principle — 
Result  of  Comparing  Measurements  not  Actually  Made,  but  Possible 
to  Make — Not  Actually  Alike,  but  Apparently  so — Proportion  Puts 
Like  Measurements  with  Like — Fulfilling  Principles  in  Chapters  XIV 
and  XV. — Why  Proportional  Ratios  must  be  Represented  by  Small 
Numbers — How  Larger  Numbers  may  be  Used — Rectilinear  Propor- 
tions— Of  Allied  Rectangles — Of  Irregular  Complex  Figures — Must  be 
Accompanied  by  Outlines  of  Simple  and  Regular  Figures — Propor- 
tions of  Human  Form  and  Clothing — Countenance — Greek  Type  of 
Face  not  the  only  Beautiful  One — Why  Other  Types  may  Seem 
Beautiful — Proportions  of  Human  Body  Indicated  by  Circles  and 
Ellipses — Binocular  Vision — Its  Relation  to  Ellipses- — Why  the  Curve 
Is  the  Line  of  Beauty — Shapes  of  Vases — Relation  of  Like  Curves  to 
Proportion  Illustrated  in  Curves  of  the   Human   Form — Conclusion. 

A  CCORDING  to  the  chart  on  page  277,  the  methods  of 
art-composition  indicated  in  it  result,  as  applied  to 
duration,  in  rhythm;  as  applied  to  extension,  in  proportion; 
and,  as  applied  to  quality  and  pitch,  whether  of  note  or 
colour,  in  harmony.  Of  these,  let  us  consider,  first, 
rhythm.  Art  did  not  originate  this,  nor  the  satisfaction  de- 
rivable from  it.  Long  before  the  times  of  the  first  artists, 
men  had  had  practical  experience  of  its  pleasures.    Long 

320 


RHYTHM.  321 

before  the  age  of  poetry,  or  music,  or  dancing,  or  even  of 
fences  or  schoolboys,  the  primitive  man  had  sat  upon  a 
log  and  kicked  with  his  heels,  producing  a  rhythm  as 
perfect,  in  its  way,  as  that  of  his  representatives  of  the 
present  who  in  Africa  take  delight  in  stamping  their  feet 
and  clapping  their  hands,  and  in  America  in  playing  upon 
drums  and  tambourines,  in  order  to  keep  time  to  the 
movements  of  dancers  and  the  tunes  of  singers. 

When  we  come  to  ask  why  rhythm  should  be  produced 
thus,  either  by  itself  or  in  connection  with  poetry  or 
music — in  short,  why  it  should  be,  as  seems  to  be  the  case, 
a  natural  mode  of  expression,  we  cannot  avoid  having  it 
suggested,  at  once,  that  it  corresponds  to  a  method  char- 
acterising all  natural  movement  whatever,  whether  appeal- 
ing to  the  eye  or  ear,  or  whether  produced  by  a  human 
being  or  perceived  in  external  nature.  There  is  rhythm 
in  the  beating  of  our  pulses,  in  the  alternate  lifting  and 
falling  of  our  chests  while  breathing,  in  our  accenting 
and  leaving  unaccented  the  syllables  of  our  speech,  in  our 
pausing  for  breath  between  consecutive  phrases,  and  in 
our  balancing  from  side  to  side  and  pushing  forward  one 
leg  or  one  arm  and  then  another,  while  walking.  There 
is  rhythm  in  the  manifestations  of  all  the  life  about  us, 
in  the  flapping  of  the  wings  of  the  bird,  in  the  changing 
phases  of  its  song,  even  in  the  minutest  trills  that  make 
up  its  melody,  and  in  the  throbbings  of  its  throat  to  utter 
them  ;  in  the  rising  and  falling  of  the  sounds  of  the  wind, 
and  of  the  swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  trees,  as  well  as  in 
the  flow  and  ebb  of  the  surf  on  the  seashore,  and  in  the 
jarring  of  the  thunder  and  the  zigzag  course  of  the  light- 
ning. In  fact,  rhythm  seems  to  be  almost  as  intimately 
associated  with  everything  that  a  man  can  see  or  hear,  as 
is  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  with  his  own  life.  Even 
21 


322  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

the  stars,  like  the  rockets  that  we  send  toward  them, 
speed  onward  in  paths  that  return  upon  themselves,  and 
the  phrase  "music  of  the  spheres"  is  a  logical  as  well  as 
a  poetical  result  of  an  endeavour  to  classify  the  grandest 
of  all  movements  in  accordance  with  a  method  which  is 
conceived  to  be  universal.  No  wonder,  then,  that  men 
should  feel  the  use  of  rhythm  to  be  appropriate  in  art- 
products  modelled  upon  natural  products.  No  wonder 
that,  connected  as  it  is  with  natural  movement  and  life 
and  the  enjoyment  inseparably  associated  with  life,  it 
should  seem  to  the  civilised  to  be — what  certainly  it  seems 
to  the  uncivilised — an  artistic  end  in  itself. 

Nor  is  this  view  of  it  suggested  as  a  result  merely  of 
superficial  observation.  It  is  substantiated  by  the  more 
searching  experiments  of  the  scientists.  There  have  been 
discovered,  for  instance,  in  addition  to  the  regular  beat 
of  the  heart,  and  independent  of  it,  rhythmical  contrac- 
tions and  expansions  of  the  walls  of  the  arteries,  increas- 
ing and  decreasing  at  regular  intervals  the  supply  of 
blood.  Such  processes,  which,  according  to  Foster  in 
his  "Physiology,"  page  307,  may  be  observed  in  the 
arteries  of  a  frog's  foot  or  a  rabbit's  ear,  may  be  checked 
by  cutting  the  nerves  connecting  it  and  the  vaso-motor 
system  ;  and  this  fact  is  taken  to  indicate  that  there  is  a 
rhythmic  form  of  activity  in  the  nerve-centres  themselves. 
Regular  periodic  contractions  have  been  observed,  too, 
in  the  hearts  of  certain  animals  after  being  removed  from 
the  body  ;  and  this  fact  has  been  attributed  to  the  pres- 
ence in  them  of  nerve-ganglia,  acting  according  to  somf 
characteristic  method.  Movements  of  the  same  kind 
are  mentioned,  also,  by  Isaac  Ott  in  his  "Observations 
upon  the  Physiology  of  the  Spinal  Cord,"  in  "Studies 
from  the  Biological  Laboratory  of  Johns  Hopkins  Uni- 


RHYTHM  IN   THE  NERVES.  323 

versity,"  No.  II.,  as  taking  place  in  certain  parts  of  the 
bodies  of  dogs,  cats,  and  rabbits  after  the  severing  of  the 
spinal   cord. 

Such  facts  with  reference  to  the  rhythmic  character  of 
nerve-action  seem  to  indicate  a  possibility  of  the  same  in 
mental  action.  Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  Dr.  Thad- 
deus  L.  Bolton,  Demonstrator  and  Fellow  in  Clark  Uni- 
versity, conducted,  a  few  years  ago,  a  series  of  interesting 
experiments,  which  are  described  by  him  in  a  thesis  on 
"Rhythm,"  published  in  the  American  Journal of 'Psychol- 
ogy, vol.  vi.,  No.  2.  "The  first  and  most  important 
object  "  of  these  experiments  is  said  to  have  been  to 
determine  "what  the  mind  did  with  a  series  of  simple 
auditory  impressions,  in  which  there  was  absolutely  no 
change  of  intensity,  pitch,  quality,  or  time-interval." 
As  a  result  it  was  found  that,  out  of  fifty  who  were  asked 
to  listen  to  clicks  produced  by  an  instrument  prepared 
for  the  purpose,  two  alone  failed  to  divide  these  clicks 
into  groups,  the  number  in  each  group  being  determined, 
mainly,  by  the  relative  rapidity  with  which  the  clicks 
were  produced.  The  groups  were  usually  of  twos  or 
threes,  though,  with  greater  rapidity,  they  passed  into 
groups  of  fours,  sixes,  and  eights,  always,  however,  when 
the  members  were  many,  with  a  tendency  to  divide  into 
twos,  threes,  and  fours.  It  was  found,  moreover,  that, 
whenever  a  second,  third,  or  fourth  click  was  made  louder 
than  the  others,  the  inclination  to  divide  the  clicks  into 
corresponding  groups  of  twos,  threes,  or  fours  was  in- 
creased. 

With  such  facts  in  mind,  let  us  recall  that  speech,  from 
which  we  have  found  both  music  and  poetry  to  be  devel- 
oped, is  composed  of  syllables,  each  uttered  with  an  in- 
dividual  stress  which   separates   it  from   other   syllables. 


324  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

Besides  this,  every  second,  third,  or  fourth  syllable  is  in- 
variably accented.  The  reason  for  the  accent  is  physio- 
logical. The  vocalised  breath  flows  through  the  throat 
— as  water  through  the  neck  of  a  bottle — with  what 
may  be  termed  alternate  active  and  passive  movements. 
The  former  of  these  movements  is  that  which  produces 
the  accent.  In  our  language  all  words  of  more  than  one 
syllable  have  come  to  have  an  accent  that  is  fixed.  This 
fact  enables  one  to  arrange  any  number  of  words  so  that 
the  fixed  accents  shall  fall,  as  natural  utterance  demands 
that  it  should,  on  every  second,  third,  fourth,  or  fifth 
syllable.  But  speech  has  another  characteristic.  Besides 
being  separated  into  small  groups  by  the  accents,  the 
syllables  and  the  words  which  they  contain  are  separated 
into  larger  groups  by  the  necessity  experienced  of  paus- 
ing at  certain  intervals  in  order  to  draw  in  the  breath. 
Nature,  therefore,  furnishes  speech  with  two  characteris- 
tics,— accents  after  every  two,  three,  four,  or  five  sylla- 
bles, and  pauses  after  every  few  words. 

Now,  suppose  that  we  apply  to  these  accents  and 
pauses  the  methods  of  art-composition  that  were  ex- 
plained in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. ;  in  other  words,  the 
methods  tending  to  produce  effects  of  unity  by  group- 
ing like  with  like, — what  will  be  the  result  ?  What  but 
metre  and  versification  which  are  the  two  constituents 
of  rhythm?  The  accents,  together  with  the  syllables 
grouped  with  them,  give  rise  to  what  in  music  are  termed 
measures  or  bars,  and  in  poetry  to  what  are  termed  meas- 
ures or  feet,  and  the  pauses  for  breath  give  rise  to  musical 
phrases,  or  poetic  lines  of  verse.  The  essential  character- 
istic of  bars  or  feet  is  that  they  are  measures  and  that 
what  they  measure  is  time.  For  this  reason,  if  the  ac- 
cents about  which  notes  or  syllables  are  grouped  occur  at 


MUSICAL  RHYTHM. 


325 


exactly  regular  intervals  of  time,  it  is  immaterial  whether 
the  measure  contain  one  note  or  syllable  or  many.  This 
is  true  even  in  poetry,  though  the  fact  is  frequently  over- 
looked.     Notice  both  music  and  words  in  the    following: 

r  r    :  :  r    r  r    *  * 


The  world 


may    go  round, 


r  r  I  r  r 

But      I  can    milk 


J 


Fill 


The  world 

r  c  r 

and    mar  -  ry, 

1  r 


may  stand  still, 


pail, 


1  r   f r   rcr 

I  can     milk        and     mar  -  ry. 


The  Milkmaid ' s  Song:   Sidney  Dobell. 

Also  that  each  syllable  in  the  first  line  of  the  following 
fills  an  entire  measure: 

Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  oh  sea. 

And  I  would,  that  my  tongue  could  titter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Break,  Break,  Break:    Tennyson. 

This  principle  is  invariably  exemplified  in  music.  No- 
tice how  many  more  notes  are  in  the  third  than  in  the 
first  measure  of  the  following  : 


0       <*         0      m qaz 


1*    m     *  +  <*  +  »  +  m_m. 


J=X 


U     U     U     be 


«<— »< — *S    <    *L    «*" 


-** — s» — <»;  ■*  >g 


i*    Vt—  <- 


=4^=±=£ 


-=i — =1 — =1 — =1- 


-=m  q  q  r«ETij=iffl: 


Here,   taken   from   W.    S.    B.    Mathew's  "Primer  of 


326  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

Musical   Forms,"  are   representations   of    the   more    im- 
portant types  of  musical  rhythm: 

Polonaise     1    J~  J=2  J"J    J"J  I  fTj  fl    7l  I 

Pol*     1    J!]!  I  J     J     JZ     J  I 

Marc,     I    J      J^  J      J  I  J     J1J     J 

Waltz:  (Slow)      1    J     J     J  I  J.     J     J     J  |  J. 

(Quick)      1    J     J     J    I    J     J     J    I 

(Moderate)     1    Jj     Jj     JJ  I  J      J      J    I 

GaloP       1    J     J    I    J     J    I    J     J    I    J     J    I 

Bolero     1    J     J     J    I    J.    JTj    I 

or  1 ,  rDTJj  I  J.  JTj  I 

Also  sometimes  the  same  as  the  Polonaise  given  above. 
Presto. 
TaranteHe    I    J      JJ      ^  \    JT2     J71\ 

In  poetry,  largely  because  this  art  is  unable  to  make  as 
much  as  music  can  out  of  the  effects  of  pitch  and  quality, 
it  is  not  customary  to  vary  greatly  the  number  of  sylla- 
bles in  successive  measures.  Often,  in  long  poems,  these 
remain  exactly  the  same  from  the  first  line  to  the  last. 
The  ordinary  poetic  measures  are  as  follows: 

Initial  or  initial  double  measure  is  accented  on  the  first 
syllable,  and  corresponds,  if  composed  of  one  long  sylla- 


MEASURES  AND    VERSES.  327 

ble  followed  by  one  short,  to  the  Greek  trochee  or  choree ; 
if  of  two  long,  to  the  Greek  spondee. 

When  the  |  hours  of  |  day  are  |  numbered. 

Terminal  or  terminal  double  measure  is  accented  on  the 
second  syllable,  and  corresponds,  if  composed  of  one 
short  followed  by  one  long  syllable,  to  the  Greek  iambus. 

Among  I  thy  fan  |  cies,  tell  |  me  this. 

Initial  triple  measure,  if  composed  of  one  long  followed 
by  two  short  syllables,  is  the  same  as  the  Greek  dactyl. 

Out  of  the  I  cities  and  |  Into  the  |  villages. 

Median  or  median  triple  measure,  i.  e.,  triple  measure 
with  the  accent  on  the  middle  syllable,  if  composed  of 
one  short,  one  long,  and  one  short  syllable,  is  the  same 
as  the  Greek  amphibrach. 

There  came  to  [  the  shore  a  |  poor  exile  |  of  Erin. 

Terminal  triple  measure,  if  composed  of  two  short  sylla- 
bles followed  by  a  long  one,  is  the  same  as  the  Greek 
anapaest. 

If  our  land  |  lord  supply  |  us  with  beef  |  and  with  fish. 

Compound  or  compound  triple  measure  is  accented  on 
the  first  and  third  syllables,  and,  if  composed  of  one 
long,  one  short,  and  one  long  syllable,  is  the  same  as  the 
Greek  amphimacrus. 

Nearer  my  |  God  to  thee  |  E'en  tho'  It  |  be  a  cross. 

Initial  quadruple  measure  is  a  duplicated  form  of  initial 
double  measure,  and  is  usually  the  same  as  the  Greek 
ditrochee,  e.  g.  : 

Roses  are  in  |  blossom  and  the  |  rills  are  filled  with  |  water-cresses. 

Terminal    quadruple    measure    is    a   duplicated  form    of 


328  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

terminal  double  measure,  and  is  usually  the  same  as  the 
Greek  diiambus,  e.  g.  : 

The  king  has  come  |  to  marshal  us. 

To  indicate  the  number  of  the  measures  placed  in  a  sin- 
gle line,  the  Greeks  used  the  terms  monometer,  meaning 
a  line  containing  one  measure,  and  dimeter,  trimeter, 
tetrameter,  pentameter,  hexameter,  meaning,  respectively, 
a  line  of  two,  three,  four,  five,  and  six  measures. 

It  is  not  important  in  this  place  to  consider  the  repre- 
sentative effects  either  of  these  different  measures,  or  of 
different  musical  phrases  or  poetic  lines.  These  subjects 
have  been  treated  at  length  in  the  author's  "Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,"  and  "Rhythm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music."  In  closing,  however,  it  may  be  of 
interest  to  observe  the  close  resemblance  between  the 
impression  conveyed  by  the  movements  of  musical  meas- 
ures when  connected  with  phrases  and  of  poetic  measures 
when  connected  with  lines.  The  following  from  Weber's 
"Theory  of  Musical  Education"  may  represent  the  general 
effect  of  the  former  of  these  no  more  clearly  than  of  the 
latter : 


ircrrcrirrr^rcrrcrirr^rcrrcirirrr^ircrrrir- 

We  now  turn  to  proportion.  When  we  say  that  a  house 
has  the  proportions  of  a  palace,  or  a  growing  boy  the 
proportions  of  a  man,  we  may  mean  merely  that  the  one 
is  as  large  as  the  other,  or  has  the  same  general  measure- 
ments. In  addition  to  this,  however,  there  is  generally 
connected  with  the  term,  when  carefully  used,  a  concep- 
tion  of  a   comparison   of  measurements.     A  part   of  a 


PROPORTION.  329 

product  is  said  to  be  "in  proportion"  because  of  the  re- 
lationship which  its  measurements  sustain  to  the  meas- 
urements of  other  parts  or  of  the  whole.  This  seems  to 
be  the  meaning  when  we  speak  of  the  proportions  of  the 
human  figure,  irrespective  of  any  references  to  attempts 
to  copy  any  particular  model;  and  it  certainly  is  the 
meaning  when  we  speak  of  the  proportions  of  a  building 
in  a  style  such  as  has  never  before  had  existence.  As  an 
effect  produced  thus  by  measurements,  it  is  evident  that 
proportion  bears  a  relationship  to  the  arts  of  sight  similar 
to  that  borne  by  rhythm  to  the  arts  of  sound.  Just  as, 
in  rhythm,  pauses  separate  syllables  or  notes,  and,  aided 
by  the  absence  or  presence  of  force  in  the  accents,  divide 
the  whole  duration  of  a  series  of  sounds  into  like  parts  or 
multiple  of  parts;  so,  in  proportion,  it  is  possible  for  lines 
to  separate  objects  of  sight,  and,  aided  by  light  and  shade 
revealing  their  shapes,  to  divide  the  whole  extent  of  space 
covered  by  a  series  of  forms  into  like  parts  or  multiples 
of  parts. 

But  if  it  be  possible  to  divide  spaces  thus,  is  it  prob- 
able that  any  or  many  will  care  to  do  this?  The  moment 
that  the  question  is  asked,  it  will  be  found  to  admit  of 
but  one  answer.  Such  a  method  of  measuring  spaces  is 
not  only  probable,  but  inevitable.  Apparently  the  mind 
in  arranging  different  objects  of  sight,  or  in  judging  of 
their  effects  as  it  finds  them  arranged,  cannot  avoid  mak- 
ing these  measurements.  None  of  us  can  look  at  window- 
panes,  doors,  or  facades  of  buildings,  without  comparing 
the  lengths  and  breadths  of  each.  It  is  true  that  we  do 
not  always  compare  them  consciously.  But  if  one  di- 
mension be  greater  than  another,  we  usually  perceive  the 
fact,  and  form  an  estimate  as  to  how  much  greater  it  is. 
After  a  most  limited  glance  at  a  building,  we  describe  it  to 


33Q 


THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  MSTHETICS. 


others  by  saying  that  it  is  twice  or  three  times,  as  the  case 
may  be,  as  long  as  it  is  high.  Or,  to  notice  the  tendency 
when  exemplified  in  action,  between  which  and  the  men- 
tal processes  necessitated  in  art  the  correspondence  is 
more  complete,  suppose  that  one  be  framing  an  engraving 
occupying  the  centre  of  a  sheet,  about  which  centre  there 
must  be  a  margin  on  all  sides.  Even  if  he  have  never 
seen  a  picture  framed  before,  forty-nine  times  out  of 
fifty  he  will  place  the  engraving  so  that,  intervening  be- 
tween it  and  the  frame,  there  shall  seem  to  be,  to  his 
eyes,  an  equal  amount  of  space  on  every  side  of  it,  or,  at 
least,  on  opposite  sides  of  it.  Or,  if  the  picture  must  be 
hung  on  a  wall  between  two  doors,  he  will  hang  it  so 
that,  to  his  eyes,  there  shall  seem  to  be  an  equal  distance 
between  the  frame  and  each  door.  Even  children,  if 
building  houses  of  blocks,  will  select  blocks  of  similar 
size  to  be  put  in  corresponding  places  at  different  sides 
of  the  same  windows  and  porches. 

An  analogous  fact  is  true  universally,  and  always  has 
been  true.  There  is  no  primitive  kind  of  ornamentation, 
no  matter  how  barbarous  the  race  originating  it,  of  which 
one  characteristic,  perhaps  the  most  marked,  is  not  an 
exact  division  or  subdivision  of  spaces,  the  mind,  appar- 
ently, deriving  the  same  sort  of  satisfaction  from  rude 
lines  of  paint  and  scratchings  upon  stone,  made  at  pro- 
portionate distances  from  one  another,  that  it  does  from 
the  rhythmical  sounds  (see  Fig.  A)  drummed  with  feet, 

3  3  3  3 


hands,  or  sticks,  to  accompany  the  song  and  dance  of 
the  savage.      In   fact,   an  arrangement,   as  in  the  staves 


PROPORTION  IN  NATURE. 


331 


and  bars  that  follow,  might  be  used  as  preparatory  either 
for  writing  music  or  for  decorating  with  colour—/,  c,  for 
the  purpose  of  representing  either  rhythm  or  proportion. 
(See  Fig.  B.) 


(B) 

It  is  not  because  it  is  convenient  but  because  it  is 
artistically  satisfactory,  that,  in  all  sorts  of  decorative 
work,  whether  upon  stone,  wood,  paper,  or  cloth, — from 
the  finishing  upon  the  ridge-pole  of  a  roof  to  the  lace  and 
fringe  upon  a  window  curtain,  and  the  patterns  upon 
carpets  and  wall-papers, — outlines  often  differently  sub- 
divided, but  nevertheless  alike  in  that  they  cover  like 
spaces,  are  put  together.  Nor  is  this  tendency  exhibited 
in  merely  those  departments  of  art  in  which  the  mind 
works  upon  forms  originated  almost  wholly  by  itself.  It 
is  found  also  in  forms  which,  with  more  or  less  literal- 
ness,  are  copied  from  nature.  Just  as  poetry  can  take 
words  and  phrases,  actually  heard  in  conversation,  and 
rearrange  them  in  such  ways  as  to  fulfil  the  requirements 
of  rhythm,  so  painting  and  sculpture  can  take  outlines 
perceived  in  nature,  and  rearrange  them  in  such  ways 
as  to  fulfil  the  requirements  of  proportion.  Of  course, 
this  could  not  be  the  case  unless,  to  some  extent,  the 
requirements  of  proportion  were  fulfilled  in  nature. 
Now  notice  to  what  extent  they  are  fulfilled  in  nature. 
First  of  all,  the  sky  and  earth  always  divide  the  possible 
field  of  vision  into  two  approximately  equal  and  comple- 
mentary parts.  When  the  painter  composing  his  picture 
according  to  the  laws  of  perspective  (see  page  93,  also 
Fig-  2>   PaSe  3)  decides  upon  the  places  for  his  horizon, 


332  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

his  vanishing  point,  and  his  principal  figures,  and  upon 
the  distances  of  these  from  one  another,  and  from  the 
margins  on  either  side  of  his  composition,  as  well  as  upon 
the  sizes  and  shapes  of  his  trees,  houses,  men,  animals, 
considered  in  themselves  or  in  connection  with  other  ob- 
jects near  them  or  remote  from  them,  he  makes  his  deci- 
sions as  a  result  of  relative  measurements,  mental  or  actual. 
And  so  with  reference  to  the  different  members  and  the 
general  shape  of  the  human  form,  or  of  the  forms  of 
animals,  trees,  plants,  or  of  any  objects,  in  fact,  that 
are  transferred  from  nature  to  canvas  or  marble  by  way 
of  imitation;  it  is  as  a  result  of  a  certain  comparison  of 
measurements  between  part  and  part,  that  one  can  say 
that  certain  of  these  forms  are  or  are  not  in  proportion. 
Take,  for  instance,  a  very  heavy  body,  either  of  flesh  or 
of  foliage,  supported  by  very  slight  limbs;  should  we  not 
say  at  once  that  the  two  were  out  of  proportion?  Even 
of  such  small  details  as  eyes,  ears,  hands,  and  nostrils 
we  should  make  a  similar  affirmation,  in  case  abnormal 
measurements  were  apparent.  And  though  the  relative 
sizes  of  these  differ  greatly  in  individual  instances,  they 
are  always  in  the  same  body  expected  to  be  so  related, 
each  to  each,  and  to  other  members,  as  to  show  an  effect 
that  can  be  recognised  only  as  a  result  of  comparing 
measurements. 

At  first  thought,  the  action  of  the  mind  in  making 
these  comparisons  may  seem  to  be  of  little  importance, 
scarcely  worthy  of  the  serious  attention  which  evidently 
we  are  about  to  give  it.  But,  in  this  life,  it  usually  takes 
very  little  to  start  that  which  may  develop  into  very 
much.  Rhythm,  too,  is  apparently  of  little  importance. 
If  one  knew  nothing  about  art,  what  could  appear  more 
absurd   than   for   an    intelligent   man   to   think   it  worth 


PROPORTION  IMPORTANT.  333 

while,  when  wishing  to  say  something,  to  count  the  syl- 
lables that  he  utters,  so  that  they  shall  reveal  exact  divi- 
sions and  subdivisions  of  time,  such  as  the  savage  makes 
when  he  beats  his  hands  and  feet  for  dancers.  Yet  it  is 
out  of  this  simple  method  of  counting,  that  art  has 
developed  the  most  important  element  in  the  form  of 
poetry,  as  well  as  an  element  extremely  important  in  the 
form  of  music.  When  we  come  to  examine  the  different 
combinations  of  effects  attributable  to  rhythm,  we  find 
that  we  are  by  no  means  dealing  with  a  subject  as  simple 
as  at  first  appeared.  The  same  is  true  of  proportion. 
Before  deciding,  for  instance,  that  a  foot  or  a  column  is 
disproportionately  large  or  small,  it  must  be  compared 
not  only  with  other  feet  or  columns,  but  with  both  the 
sizes  and  shapes  of  all  the  surrounding  features  in  the 
man  or  building  in  which  it  appears.  Indeed,  the  num- 
ber and  variety  of  measurements  straight,  curved,  or 
angular,  that  any  extensive  knowledge  or  application  of 
proportion  involves,  are  almost  incalculable. 

Proportional  processes  may  be  rendered  most  intelli- 
gible, perhaps,  by  dwelling  for  a  little  upon  the  corre- 
spondence, already  many  times  suggested,  between 
proportion  and  rhythm.  Rhythm  has  been  shown  to 
result  from  the  mind's  endeavour,  in  the  sphere  of  time 
or  duration,  to  arrange  the  features  of  forms  by  putting 
like  measurements  with  like.  Evidently,  it  is  the  same 
principle  that  is  illustrated  in  proportion.  Just  as  the 
mind,  when  listening  through  the  ear,  takes  satisfaction 
in  sounds  so  divided  and  subdivided  as  to  duration  that 
all  can  appear  to  be  parts  of  a  unity,  because  all  can  be 
measured  according  to  some  clearly  recognised  standard 
of  comparison;  so  the  same  mind,  looking  through  the 
eye,  takes  satisfaction  in  objects  of  sight  so  divided  and 


3  34  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ^ESTHETICS. 

subdivided  as  to  extension,  i.  c,  as  to  size  or  shape,  that 
these  also  can  be  measured  and  compared.  It  is  import- 
ant to  observe,  however,  that  it  is  not  necessary  actually 
to  measure  them,  as  a  preliminary  step  to  recognising 
that  they  are  in  proportion.  In  other  words,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  determine  what  the  ratio  between  them  is, 
but  merely  that  it  exists.  The  same  principle  applies 
here  as  in  rhythm.  To  experience  the  effects  of  this, 
we  do  not  need  to  decide  what  the  metre  is — whether  in- 
itial or  terminal,  iambic  or  trochaic — only  that  there  is  a 
metre.  But  while  this  is  true,  the  metre  must  be  capable 
of  being  analysed;  and  we  must  be  conscious  that  it  is 
so,  although,  perhaps,  we  ourselves  do  not  care  to  go 
through  with  the  analytic  process.  In  the  same  way, 
the  impression  which  the  mind  receives  of  proportion  is 
due  to  measurements  of  which,  if  it  choose,  it  may  be- 
come conscious  as  distinguished  from  those  of  which,  as 
measurements,  it  must  forever  remain  unconscious.  This 
fact  is  noteworthy,  because,  so  far  as  it  can  be  recognised, 
it  enables  one  to  perceive  why  proportion  in  the  arts  of 
sight,  is  not,  as  has  been  almost  universally  supposed,  the 
analogue  of  harmony  in  the  arts  of  sound.  As  will  be 
shown  in  Chapter  XVII.,  harmony  is  produced  in  these 
arts  whenever  the  number  of  vibrations  per  second  deter- 
mining the  pitch  of  one  tone  sustains  a  certain  ratio  to 
the  number  of  vibrations  per  second  determining  the 
pitch  of  another  tone.  But  only  the  investigations  of 
science  have  been  able  to  discover  that  this  is  the  reason 
for  the  effect.  The  mind  cannot  count  the  vibrations. 
It  is  not  conscious  of  them ;  but  only  of  an  agreeable 
thrill  or  glow  in  case  they  coalesce,  as  they  do  when 
they  sustain  to  one  another  the  required  harmonic  ratio. 
Now  if  we  go  upon   the  supposition   that   the   measure- 


PROPORTION    VERSUS  HARMONY.  335 

merits  determining  the  effects  of  proportion  are  of  the 
same  nature  as  are  those  determining  the  effects  of  har- 
mony, it  is  evident  that  we  must  suppose  ourselves 
dealing  with  factors  of  which  the  mind  is  unconscious; 
and  must  remain  ignorant  until  science  has  come  into 
possession  of  certain  data  not  yet  discovered.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  those  accepting  this  supposition  who  have 
tried  to  explain  the  effects,  have  either  held  that  they 
cannot  be  explained  at  all,  or  have  made  attempts  at 
explanation  which  may  be  said  in  a  general  way  to  have 
failed  to  prove  convincing?  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  even 
when  acknowledging  that  the  Greeks  once  had  a  know- 
ledge of  the  subject,  very  many  in  our  own  times,  after 
seeking  for  this  knowledge  in  wrong  directions,  have 
conceived  of  the  subject  as  hidden  in  almost  impenetrable 
mystery, — as  involving  principles  which  it  is  wellnigh 
useless  for  present  artists  to  attempt  either  to  understand 
or  to  apply? 

It  is  important  to  notice,  too,  that  the  effects  of 
proportion,  as  interpreted  here,  must  be  ascribed  to 
measurements  that  are  apparent,  but  not  necessarily 
actual.  One  cannot  well  judge  of  the  relations  between 
the  measurements  of  the  parts  of  a  body,  or  between 
the  measurements  of  these  and  the  measurements  of  the 
whole,  except  so  far  as  he  looks  at  the  body  from  a  dis- 
tance where  all  the  parts  can  be  compared  together.  But, 
as  shown  on  page  102,  certain  measurements  need  to  be 
actually  different,  in  order,  when  seen  from  a  distance, 
to  seem  to  be  alike.  Effects  of  proportion,  therefore, 
are  not  determined  by  actual  measurements,  but  by 
what  the  measurements  appear  to  be,  after  perspective 
and  the  methods  associated  with  it  have  made  them 
appear  as   they   do.     The    principles    underlying    Greek 


336  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

proportion  cannot,  therefore,  be  ascertained  by  merely 
measuring  with  a  tape-line  the  different  members  of  a 
Greek  facade. 

Once  more,  inasmuch  as  proportion,  like  rhythm,  is 
based  upon  the  requirements  of  composition,  it  is  im- 
portant to  notice  that  fundamentally,  measurements  go 
together  because  they  appear  to  be  exactly  alike,  that  is, 
as  1  :  1  ;  and  that  the  mind  accepts  the  ratios  of  certain 
small  numbers  that  are  not  alike,  like  1  :  2  or  2  :  3,  be- 
cause it  is  able  to  recognise  in  the  first  that  which 
corresponds  to  1  :  1  -j-  1,  and  in  the  second  that  which 
corresponds  to  1  -)-  1  :  1  -f-  1  -f-  1.  Finally,  connected 
with  this,  it  is  important  to  notice  that  as  rhythm  starts 
by  putting  together  similar  small  parts  such  as  feet  and 
lines,  and  produces  the  general  effect  of  the  whole  as  a 
result  of  the  combined  effects  of  these  parts,  so  does 
artistic  proportion.  For  instance,  the  height  of  the  front 
of  the  Parthenon  is  to  its  breadth  as  9  :  14.  But  we  need 
not  consider  the  architect  as  aiming  primarily  at  this 
proportion ;  or  that  it  is  any  more  than  a  secondary, 
though,  of  course,  a  necessary  result  of  the  relations,  the 
one  to  the  other,  of  the  different  separate  measurements 
put  together  in  order  to  form  the  whole.  If  we  lose 
sight  of  this  fact,  we  may  never  be  able  to  the  end  of 
time  to  explain  why  the  Greeks  used  such  proportions, 
in  their  columns,  as  5:81,  or,  in  their  facades,  as  9:  14. 

In  view  of  what  has  been  said  in  previous  chapters  of 
this  book,  it  is  easy  for  us  to  recognise  why  the  ratio  of 
1  :  1  should  be  characteristic  of  the  measurements  of  the 
majority,  perhaps,  of  art-products  in  the  realm  of  sight. 
Everything  that  was  said  of  the  repetition  of  like  forms 
on  pages  270  to  275  applies  equally  to  like  measurements. 
Whether  we  compare  with  one  another  like  features,  as 


PROPORTI ON   RENDERED    RECOGNISABLE.         337 

'n  columns,  flutings,  windows,  mouldings,  eyes,  arms, 
legs;  or  unlike  features,  as  in  capitals,  friezes,  architraves, 
metophs,  triglyphs,  foreheads,  noses,  ears,  chins,  we  find 
that  1  :  1  is  the  fundamental  proportion  from  which  all 
other  ratios  are  developed. 

It  is  evident  that  other  ratios  can  be  developed  from 
this  in  such  ways  as  to  make  the  fact  of  proportion 
apparent  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the  numbers  repre- 
senting the  ratios  are  small.  After  1:1,  the  next  easiest 
to  recognise  is  that  of  I  :  2,  as  between  the  first  of  the 
upper  and  of  the  lower  lines  at  the  left  of  Fig.  58. 


FIG.  58-— LINES  IN  PROPORTION. 
See  pages  337  and  338. 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  recognise  the  relationship  of  1*3. 
as  between  the  second  pair  of  lines  in  this  figure,  or  of 
2:  3,  as  between  the  third  pair.  But  it  is  evident  that  as 
the  numbers  representing  the  ratios  increase  in  value, 
these  ratios  become  less  recognisable;  as,  for  instance, 
when  they  are  as  4  :  5,  or  as  5  : 7,  as  between,  respect- 
ively, the  fourth  and  fifth  pairs  of  lines  in  this  Fig.  58. 
When,  at  last,  we  get  to  a  relationship  that  can  be 
expressed  only  by  large  numbers  like  10 :  1 1 ,  or  15:  16,  the 
mind  is  no  longer  able  to  recognise  even  its  existence. 

There  is  a  way,  however,  in  which  one  may  be  made 
to  recognise  it,  even  when  represented  by  comparatively 
large  numbers.  This  is  when,  in  accordance  with  the 
elementary  process  in  proportion  of  putting  like  with 
like,  the  wholes  of  the  forms  that  are  to  be  compared  are 
measured  off  into  like  subdivisions.  For  instance,  it 
is  far  more  easy  to  recognise  the  relationship  of  4  : 5,  or 
at  least    that    there    is  such   a  relationship,  when   it   is 


338 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


expressed  as  in  Fig.  59,  below,  than  when  it  is  expressed 
as  in  lines  like  those  in  Fig.  58,  page  337.  Accordingly, 
like  subdivisions  when  they  are  indicated  as  in  Fig.  5g 


FIG.  59.— LINES  SUBDIVIDED  TO  INDICATE  PROPORTION- 
See  page  33S. 

may  show  not  only  the  relationship  that  each  subdivision 
sustains  to  each  other  subdivision  that  measures  the  same 


FIG.  60-— TYPE  OF  AN  ASSYRIAN  SQUARE. 
See  pages  340  and  341. 


as  itself,  but  the  relationship  also  that  whole  series  of 
subdivisions  sustain  to  other  series  of  them,   which,  as 


340  THE  ESSENTIALS    OF    ^ESTHETICS. 

series,  do  not  measure  the  same.  Thus,  the  panels  in 
the  lower  story  in  the  Assyrian  tower  in  Fig.  60,  page 
338,  show  that  the  whole  length  of  each  story  sustains  a 
certain  definite  relationship  to  the  whole  length  of  each 
other  story.  So,  too,  the  ornamental  divisions  in  the 
spire  in  Chichester  Cathedral  (Fig.  61,  page  339)  show 
that  the  whole  spire  sustains  an  exact  relationship  of  3  :  1 
to  the  square  part  of  the  tower  visible  below  it. 

We  are  told  by  W.  W.  Lloyd  in  his  "Memoir  on  the 
Systems  of  Proportion,"  published  with  Cockerill's 
"Temples  of  yEgina  and  Bassae,"  page  64,  that  all  the 
architectural  quantities  as  made  proportionate  were 
estimated  by  the  Greeks  chiefly  in  two  ways:  by  rectilin- 


FIQ   62.— FIGURES  WITH  LINES  SUBDIVIDED  TO  INDICATE  PROPORTION. 
See  pages  103  and  341. 

ear  proportions,  i.  e.,  by  divisions  of  one  continuous 
straight  line;  and  by  rectangular  proportions,  i.  e.,  by  a 
comparison  of  length  and  breadth,  height  and  width, 
etc.,  at  right  angles.  We  have  considered  the  first  of 
these  ways.  In  considering  the  second,  we  can  expect, 
of  course,  no  change  in  principle.  In  case  the  lines  to 
be  compared  form  adjacent  sides  of  a  rectangle,  the  ratio 
between  the  lines  must  be  recognisable  in  the  degree  in 
which  it  can  be  expressed  in  small  numbers,  I  :  2,  2:3, 
3:  4,  etc.  Or,  if  comparatively  large  numbers  be  neces- 
sitated, they  can   still  be   recognised  in   the  degree   in 


PROPORTION  RENDERED   RECOGNISABLE. 


341 


which  certain  marks  suggest  them  to  the  eye.  Notice 
this  Fig.  62,  representing  3:  5,  and  4:  7.  As  applied  in 
actual  construction  also,  observe  Fig.  60,  page  338;  and 
the  like  horizontal  or  vertical  divisions  in  Fig.  28,  page 
219,  Fig.  32,  page  225,  and  Fig.  33,  page  226. 

Of  course  this  method  of  making  lengths  and  breadths 
seem  in  proportion  in  the  same  figure  can  make  them 
seem  so  in  adjacent  figures;  in  other  words,  it  can  make 
one  figure  as  a  whole  seem  in  proportion  to  another 
figure.  If,  in  such  cases,  the  figures  be  rectangles,  they 
may  be  similar  in  width,  and  then  their  relationships  may 
be  determined  by  the  ratios  of  their  heights,  as  in  the 
first  three  rectangles  at  the  left  of  Fig.  63.     Or  if  the 


□u 


Un 


□ 


F!Q.  63-— RECTANGLES  IN  PROPORTION. 
See  page  341. 


rectangles  be  similar  in  height,  their  relationships  may  be 
determined  by  the  ratios  of  their  widths,  as  in  the  fourth, 
fifth,  and  sixth  rectangles  in  the  same  figure.  Or,  if  the 
rectangles  be  similar  neither  in  width  nor  in  height,  their 
relationships  may  still  be  determined  by  the  ratios,  each 
to  each,  of  both  these  respective  dimensions,  as  in  the 
seventh,  eighth,  and  ninth  rectangles  in  Fig.  63. 

So  far  we  have  considered  only  straight  lines  and  rect- 
angular figures.  Of  course,  there  are  other  figures,  and 
they  form  avast  majority,  that  are  not  composed  of  lines 
of  this  character.  It  is  evident  that  to  compare  the 
measurements  of  these  figures,  especially  when  they  differ 
for  different  reasons  is  extremely  difficult;  not  only  so 
but   that   it   is   impossible,    unless   all  can  be  shown  to 


342 


THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


be  allied  to   some  simpler  figure  which   can   serve   as   a 
standard  of  measurement.     This  simpler  figure,  which  is 


FIG-  64.  — FIGURES     RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE  IN  THE  SAME  SQUARE. 
See  page  342. 

just  as  essential  to  the  determining  of  like  space-dimen- 
sions in  shape  as  a  yardstick  is  to  the  determining  of  like 


FIG.  65.— FIGURES  RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE  IN  THE  SAME  RECTANGLE. 
See  page  342. 

lengths,  may  be  either  actually  outlined  at  the  time   of 
comparing  the  measurements  or  only  ideally  imagined. 


r\ 


o 


n 


LJ 


□ 


FIG.  66.— RELATIONSHIP  OF  FIGURES  AS  INDICATED  AND  AS  NOT  INDICATED. 
See  pages  342  and  343. 

But  whether  actually  outlined  or  not,  on  the  principle 
that  things  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to  one  an^ 


A^\XX 


FIG.  67—  FIGURES  RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE   IN  FIGURES  IN    PROPORTION. 
See  page  343. 

other,  all  other  figures  inscribed  in  this  simpler  figure  and 

that  touch  all  its  sides  can,  for  this  reason,  be  recognised 

as  related.     See  Figs.  64,  65,  and  66. 


PROPORTION   RENDERED    RECOGNISABLE. 


343 


It  is  well  to  observe,  however,  that  the  more  complex 
figures  cannot  always  be  recognised  as  being  related,  in 
case  the  outlines  of  the  simpler  figures  do  not  accom- 


FiG.  68.— CHATEAU  DE  RANDAU,  VICHY.  FRANCE. 
See  page  343. 

pany  them.  The  first  three  forms  in  Fig.  66,  when  they 
are  separated  from  the  rectangles  in  which,  in  the  last 
three  forms,  they  are  shown  to  be  inscribable,  do  not 
suggest  any  particular  relationship  to  one  another.  Nor 
would  the  fifth  and  sixth,  or  the  seventh  and  eighth 
forms  in  Fig.  67,  page  342,  were  it  not  for  the  rectan- 
gles in  the  first  and  second,  with  which  the  figure  shows 
them  to  be  connected.  Or,  to  indicate  the  practical 
bearings  upon  art  of  this  remark,  it  is  conceivable  that 
the  different  triangles  described  by  the  pitch  of  the 
gable-windows,  roofs,  and  turrets  in  Fig.  68,  page  343, 
would  all  be  found  to  be  exactly  inscribable  in  rectangles 
which,  according  to  what  was  said  on  page  342,  are  in 


344 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


proportion  to  one  another.  But  because  the  rectangles 
are  not  visible,  and  in  the  circumstances  cannot  be  made 
visible,  the  different  triangles  do  not  seem  to  be  either  in 
proportion  or  in  harmony.  Notice,  on  the  contrary, 
how  the  rectangular  framings  into  which  are  set  the 
arched  doors  and  windows  in  the  middle  of  the  front  of 
the  building  in  Fig.  69,  below,  redeem  the  whole  from 
an  effect  of  incongruity  and  disproportion  which,  other- 
wise, might  characterise  it. 

The  use  of  these  simpler  lines  or  figures  as  standards 


flip!?1 


;  ^^(l^lf^jyfe 


&.»; 


fBKT^uK   *\  n  Iff  li l\u 


^!2SL(£3j 


w*s\ 


aCwvt  ABCftirtcr 


FIG.  69.— WALKER  MUSEUM,  CHICAGO  UNIVERSITY.—   COSMOPOLITAN"  MAGAZINE. 
See  page  344. 

of  measurement  has  a  bearing  upon  the  methods  of  de- 
termining the  proportions  of  the  human  form.  Fig.  70, 
page  345,  is  divided  into  eight  parts  by  horizontal  lines; 
and  Fig.  71,  page  346,  shows  how  such  lines  can  be  indi- 
cated in  the  clothing.  The  first  figure  to  the  left  shows 
a  division  into  four  equal  parts;  the  next  figure  to  the 
right  of  it,  a  division  into  five  equal  parts;  and  the  other 
two  figures,  divisions  into  six  equal  parts.  Fig.  72 
shows  costumes,  fashionable  and  not  fashionable,  in 
which  there  are  no  suggestions   of   equal   divisions.     A 


PROPORTION   IN    THE   HUMAN  FACE.  345 

glance  at  the  results  will  be  enough  to  reveal  their  unaes- 
thetic  effects,  and  that  these  are  due  to  a  lack  of  likeness 
in  measurements. 

Now  let  us  apply  the  same  principle  to  the  counte- 
nance. Here  there  are  more  features  like  eyes,  nose, 
mouth,  and  ears,  which  themselves  divide  up  the  spaces, 


FIG.  70.— LINES   AND  CURVES  INDICATING  PROPORTIONS  OF  A  FORM 

TAKEN  FROM  PUTNAM'S  HAND-BOOK. 

See  pages  344,  35°,    356. 

and  artificial  lines  are  not  so  important.  If  one  be  facing 
us,  it  is  wellnigh  impossible  not  to  suppose  an  imaginary 
vertical  straight  line  drawn  from  the  middle  of  his  forehead 
to  the  middle  of  his  chin,  as  in  Fig.  73,  page  347,  and 
if  we  find  this  line  passing  through  the  middle  of  his  nose, 


346 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF    ^ESTHETICS. 


we  obtain  an  impression  of  regularity  which,  so  far  as 
concerns  it  alone,  is  an  aid  to  the  agreeableness  and  con- 
sequent beauty  of  the  effect;  but  in  the  degree  in  which 


FIG.  71. -COSTUMES  DIVIDING  HUMAN  FORMS  PROPORTIONATELY. 

See  page  344- 

the  middle  of  the  nose  is  out  of  this  vertical  line,  not 
only  irregularity  but   ugliness  is  suggested.     A  similar 


FIG.  72. —COSTUMES  NOT  DIVIDING  HUMAN  FORMS  PROPORTIONATELY. 
See  page  344. 

tendency  of  thought  causes  us  to  suppose  other  imagin- 
ary vertical  straight  lines,  drawn,  as  in  the  same  Fig.  75, 
at  equal  distances  from  this  central  line;  and  from  them 


PROPORTION  IN    THE    HUMAN  FACE. 


347 


we  may  gain  an  impression  of  relative  regularity  by  no- 
ticing to  what  extent  the  lines  pass  through  corresponding 
sides  of  the  face.  Besides  this,  we  are  prompted  to  sup- 
pose horizontal  lines  drawn,  as  indicated  in  the  same 
figure,  across  the  forehead,  eyes,  and 
mouth;  and  from  these  lines,  too,  we 
form  judgments  with  reference  to  the 
degrees  of  regularity.  If  the  hair  or 
one  eyebrow  be  farther  down  on  one 
side  of  the  forehead  than  on  the  other, 
or  if  the  arch  of  the  eyebrows  be 
not  symmetrically  rounded,  or  if  the 
sides  of  the  mouth  incline  downward 
fig.  73-  front  face    Gr  upward,  or  a  lip  be  larger  on  one  side 

DIVIDED  BY  LINES.  ,.  ,,  ,,  ,.  ,,  f       . 

See  pages  345,  346,      than  on  the    other>  we    notlce   the    fact« 
348,  349.  Of  course    we  do   this,  only  so  far  as 

we  compare  the  result  with  that  of  an  imaginary  straight 
line  drawn  through  the  feature.  Of  like  measurements, 
there  are,  of  those  that  are  horizontal,  five  at  the  level  of 
the  eyes, — two  filled 
by  the  eyes  them- 
selves, two  by  the 
spaces,  as  seen  from 
the  front,  between 
the  eyes  and  the 
ears,  and  one  filled 
by  the  width  of  the 
nose.  Three  other 
like  horizontal  meas- 
urements may  be 
seen    at  the  level  of 

the    mouth,    one    filled   by    the    main    outlines    of    the 
mouth, — not  including  all  of  them, — and  the  other  two 


FIG.  74.—  SIDE  FACE  DIVIDED  BY  LINES- 
See  pages  348,  349 


348 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


by  the  spaces  on  each  side  between  the  mouth  and  the 
sides  of  the  cheeks.  Another  like  horizontal  measure- 
ment may  be  seen  also  at  the  nostrils,  and  still  another 
at  the  lowest  point  of  the  chin.  The  same  figure  shows 
like  vertical  measurements  between  the  top  of  the  head 
and  the  top  of  the  forehead,  also  between  this  and  the 
bridge  of  the  nose,  also  between  this  and  the  nostrils, 
and,  again,  between  these  and  the  chin. 

These   measurements  conform  to  the   Greek  type  of 


FIG.  75.— FACIAL  DIVISIONS. 
See  pages  348,  349. 


FIG.  76- -FACIAL  DIVISIONS. 
See  pages  348,  349. 


face,  which  this  figure,  and  Fig.  74,  page  347,  are  supposed 
to  represent.  It  must  not  be  inferred,  however,  that  all 
faces,  in  order  to  meet  the  requirements  of  proportion, 
need  be  similar.  Not  all  the  spaces  in  Fig.  75,  page 
348,  or  in  Fig.  76,  page  348,  are  divided  vertically  in  the 
same  way  as  in  Fig.  73,  page  347,  and  74,  page  347,  nor, 
as  compared  with  one  another,  are  the  spaces  in  Figs.  75 
and  j6  divided  in  the  same  way.  Yet  they  are  all  divided 
so  that  certain  measurements  in  each  are  like  one  another. 
These  like  measurements,  moreover,  are  such  as,  probably, 


PROPORTION   IN   THE    HUMAN  FACE.  349 

half  the  people  in  the  world,  without  ever  having  been 
aware  of  it,  have  been  in  the  habit  of  perceiving.  In 
other  words,  they  have  been  in  the  habit,  when  looking 
at  a  face,  of  comparing,  mentally,  the  distance  between 
the  chief  line  of  the  eyebrows  and  of  the  eye,  with  the 
distance  between  the  nostrils  and  the  mouth,  and  also  of 
comparing,  above  and  below  these  narrower  spaces,  the 
wider  distances  between  the  hair  and  the  eyebrows,  the 
eyes  and  the  nostrils,  and  the  mouth  and  the  chin.  The 
narrower  distances  are  usually  to  the  wider  as  1:2, 
though,  in  accordance  with  the  principle  of  alternation, 
it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  the  ratio  between  the 
two  should  be  expressible  in  just  these  numbers.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  that  the  first  and  third  measurements 
should  seem  alike,  and  that  the  second  and  fourth,  which 
also  seem  alike,  should  seem  sufficiently  unlike  the  first 
and  third  not  to  confuse  the  mind  by  suggesting  like- 
ness where  it  is    not  supposed  to  be  suggested. 

If  our  readers  will  examine  Figs.  75  and  76,  and  then 
recall  their  own  experiences,  when  judging  of  faces,  they 
will  probably  be  ready  to  admit  that,  much  as  has  been 
made  of  the  Greek  vertical  division  of  the  face  as  in  Figs. 
73  and  74,  they  seldom  think  of  comparing  either  the 
height  of  the  forehead,  or  the  length  of  the  nose,  with 
the  distance  between  the  nostrils  and  the  chin.  More- 
over, if  they  do  compare  these,  and  find  all  of  equal 
measurement,  they  do  not,  usually,  if  people  of  English- 
speaking  countries,  admire  the  arrangement.  It  fails  to 
represent  the  face  to  which  they  are  the  most  accus- 
tomed, or,  to  go  deeper,  it  fails  to  represent  the  charac- 
teristics by  which  they  are  most  attracted.  For  these 
reasons,  if  they  tell  us  that  they  consider  the  faces  in 
Figs.  75  and  y6  more  satisfactory  than  those  conforming  to 


350  THE    ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

the  Greek  type,  they  are  justified.  According  to  the 
laws  of  form,  properly  interpreted,  other  faces  may 
fulfil  equally  with  the  Greek — though  in  a  different  way 
— the  principles  of  proportion.  But,  besides  this,  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  significance,  as  derived  from  association 
with  faces  of  another  type,  from  deductions  with  refer- 
ence to  the  characteristics  manifested  by  such  faces,  and 
from  sympathy  with  such  persons  as  possess  these  char- 
acteristics, it  is  in  complete  fulfilment  of  aesthetic  prin- 
ciples to  say  that  the  faces  are  as  beautiful  as  the  Greek, 
and  that  their  beauty,  to  one  of  the  race  and  country 
to  which  they  belong,  is  enhanced  on  account  of  its 
significance. 

The  outlines  enabling  us  to  recognise  that  two  complex 
figures  inscribed  within  them  are  in  proportion,  need  not, 
invariably,  be  composed  of  straight  lines,  as  in  rectangles. 
Sometimes  it  is  impossible  that  forms  should  accomplish 
that  for  which  they  are  intended  without  being  composed 
of  curved  lines  like  those  of  an  ellipse  or  of  a  circle. 
Either  of  these  may  be  made  a  standard  of  comparison 
by  which  to  judge  of  the  relative  measurements,  or — 
what  is  the  same  thing — the  proportions  of  the  contours 
drawn  about  it  or  within  it;  and,  of  course,  in  case  out- 
lines be  curved,  a  curved  standard  is  much  more  satis- 
factory than  one  that  is  rectangular.  Notice  the  like 
segments  of  circles  made  to  describe  the  chief  curves  in 
the   foremost   outlines   of  the   human   form    in    Fig.  70, 

page  345- 

There  is  a  reason  for  the  use  of  these  circles  as  a  stand- 
ard of  measurement  derived  from  the  physiological  re- 
quirements of  the  eye,  especially  in  binocular  vision. 
Dr.  M.  Foster  says  in  his  "Text-Book  of  Physiology," 
sec.  ii.,   on   Binocular  Vision — that  "when  we  use  both 


CIRCLES  AS  MEASURES  OF  PROPORTION.  35  I 

eyes  a  large  part  of  the  visual  field  of  each  eye  overlaps 
that  of  the  other;  but  that,  nevertheless,  at  the  same 
time,  a  certain  part  of  each  visual  field  does  not  so  over- 
lap any  part  of  the  other.  If  the  right  hand  be  held  up 
above  the  right  shoulder  and  brought  a  little  forward,  it 
soon  becomes  distinctly  visible  to  the  right  eye;  it  enters 
into  the  field  of  sight  of  the  right  eye.  But  if  the  right 
eye  be  closed,  the  right  hand  kept  in  its  former  position 
is  not  visible  to  the  left  eye;  it  is  outside  the  field  of 
sight  of  that  eye."  .  .  .  "The  dimensions  of  the 
field  of  sight  for  one  eye  will,  even  in  the  same  individ- 
ual, vary  with  the  width  of  the  pupil  and  othc  r^inr.'-'- 


FIG.  77.— CIR^LLS  ILLUSTRATING   FIELD  OF  DISTINCT  VISION    FOR  BOTH  LVT3 
TOGETHER. 
See  page  351. 

arrangements  of  the  eye."  We  may,  however,  concehe 
this  field  of  sight — especially  as  applied  to  that  central 
section  of  it  where  vision  is  most  distinct — to  be  approxi- 
mately circular.  But,  so  far  as  this  is  true,  notice  that 
the  whole  field  of  sight — not  for  one  eye,  but  for  both 
eyes  when  acting  conjointly — is  represented  neither  by 
the  single  circle  at  the  left  of  Fig.  "JJ,  page  351,  nor  by 
the  two  separated  circles  at  the  right  of  this  figure ;  but 
rather  by  the  space  enclosed  between  the  two  circumfer- 
ences of  the  circles  where  they  overlap,  as  in  the  second 
and  third  drawings  of  this  figure.  This  space  has  the 
shape  termed  by  botanists  elliptic  lanceolate, — an  ellipse 
pointed;  and  of  all  outlines  wholly  curved,  those  of  an 
upright  ellipse  fit  into  it  most  nearly. 

The  bearing  of  this  upon  our  present  subject  is  found 


352  THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

in  the  fact  that  the  whole  of  a  form  facing  us  can  be 
recognised  with  ease,  i.  ^.,  in  a  single  glance,  or,  at  least, 
a  single  conscious  glance,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is 
conformed  to  vertical  elliptic-lanceolate  outlines.  In- 
deed, this  fact  thus  theoretically  unfolded,  can  be  con- 
firmed by  practical  experiments.  If  we  describe  at  the 
nearest  point  at  which  it  is  possible  to  perceive  all  its 
outlines,  an  ellipse  longer  vertically  than  horizontally, 
and  about  it  a  circle  of  the  same  diameter  as  the  vertical 
length  of  the  ellipse,  there  will  be  not  a  few  who  will 
find  it  slightly  more  easy  at  a  single  glance,  or  without 
consciously  changing  the  axis  of  the  eye,  to  perceive  all 
the  outlines  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.  If  we  de- 
scribe about  the  circle  and  ellipse  a  square  of  the  same 
diameter  as  the  circle,  no  one  can  see  all  its  outlines 
without  consciously  changing  the  axis  of  the  eye,  as 
when  glancing  from  corner  to  corner;  and  if  we  describe 
about  the  square  a  rectangle  of  the  same  vertical  but 
twice  the  horizontal  dimensions,  we  cannot  see  all  its 
outlines  without  changing  the  axis  still  more  consciously. 
In  the  use  of  the  eyes,  the  difference  between  movement 
and  no  movement,  or  no  conscious  movement,  is  the  dif- 
ference between  activity,  work,  or  effort,  and  rest,  play, 
or  enjoyment.  But  this  is  the  same  difference  as  in 
Chapter  III.  of  this  book  is  said  to  separate  that  which 
is  done  with  a  utilitarian  aim  and  an  aesthetic.  If  a  form 
of  outline  naturally  fitting  into  the  shape  of  an  upright 
elliptical  figure,  be  the  one  which  requires,  to  recognise 
it,  the  least  visual  activity,  work,  or  effort,  then  this 
form  must  be  the  one  most  conformed  to  the  physiolog- 
ical requirements  of  the  eye.  In  other  words,  it  is  the 
form  most  in  harmony  with  these  requirements;  therefore 
the   most   agreeable,    the    most    pleasurable,    the   most 


FIG.  78.~ VASES  OUTLINED  BY  ELLIPSES  AND  CIRCLES. 
353  23  See  page  355. 


354  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

"fitted  to  be  perceived,"  which  is  the  exact  etymological 
meaning  of  the  word  cestJictic.  This  fact  furnishes  the 
best  possible  justification  for  calling  the  curve — particu- 
larly, as  we  shall  notice  presently,  the  one  found  in  the 
ellipse, — the  line  of  beauty. 

What  has  been  thus  found  to  be  true  with  reference  to 
the   elliptical   contour,    renders    significant    many   whole 


FIG.  79.— BUILDING  ENCLOSED   BY  CIRCLES. 
See  pages  222,  252,  261,  290,  293,  296,  302,  355. 

classes  of  facts  with  which  few  of  us  can  fail  to  be 
familiar.  Recall,  for  instance,  the  extensive  use  in  art 
of  this  elliptical  shape.  If  we  go  into  the  shops  where 
they  sell  implements  for  drawing,  whatever  else  they  may 
not  keep,  assortments  of  models  for  different  sizes  of 
ellipses  are  sure  to  meet  our  eyes.  The  one  ornamental 
object,  avowedly  not  modelled  after  an  appearance  in 
nature,  which  the  arts  of  all  lands  and  races  have  united 


SHAPES  OF    VASES. 


355 


in  producing,  is  the  vase;  and  this  is  almost  invariably 
conformed  to  vertical  elliptic-lanceolate  outlines.  See 
Fig-  /8,  page  353.  In  this  the  heavy  continuous  lines  are 
elliptic-lanceolate,  such  as  are  formed  by  the  convergence 
of  two  circles.  The  dotted  lines  describe  regular  ellipses; 
and  the  slight  continuous  lines  represent  vases  framed  in 
elliptical  outlines  without  reference  to  converging  circles. 
Again,  in  architecture,  the  form  that  general  usage  has 
shown  to  be  the  most  satisfactory  is  one  which,  whether 


FIG.  80. 


-WOMAN'S  FORM    ENCLOSED  BETWEEN  CIRCLES. 
See  page  355. 


we  consider  it  as  exemplified  in  the  cupola  or  the  dome, 
is  like  that  described  within  the  space  enclosed  between 
circles  in  the  centre  of  Fig.  79,  page  354,  and  even  if  the 
building  be  wide,  the  form  preferred  for  this  is  one  con- 
taining at  least  a  central  part  which,  as  in  Fig.  79,  it  is 
possible  to  enclose  in  such  a  space.  Notice,  too,  in  Fig. 
80,  page  355,  how  the  human  form  as  a  whole  fits  into  the 
same  elliptic-lanceolate  shape. 

These  human  forms  that  are  inserted  in  this  book  were 
drawn  not  by  the  author,  but  by  others  to  represent  what 


356  THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  ESTHETICS. 

were  supposed  to  be  approximately  perfect  proportions. 
Is  it  not  remarkable  that  like  circles  outline  so  many 
general  features  of  the  contour  when  viewed  either  in 
repose,  as  in  Fig.  70,  page  345;  Fig.  81,  page  356;  or  in 
action,  as  in  Fig.  82,  page  357?  One  who  will  go  over  any 
representations  of  the   human  figure  with  compasses  will 


FIG-  81.— WOMAN'S  FORM  ENCLOSED  BETWEEN  LIKE  CIRCLES. 
See  page  356. 

be  surprised  to  find  how  large  a  part  of  a  segment  of  ex- 
actly the  same  circle  fits  either  the  bend  of  the  calf,  fore- 
arm, thigh,  abdomen,  chest,  or  back.  If,  then,  his 
experience — say  at  a  bathing-place — causes  him  to  recall 
the  aesthetic  influences  of  such  formations  as  a  long  arm 
or  leg  combined  with  great  leanness,  or  a  small  chest 
combined  with   an    abnormally  large   abdomen,   he    will 


CURVES  IN  HUMAN    FORM.  357 

find  upon  reflection  that  the  effects  of  disproportion, 
while  attributable  partly  to  association,  are  also  attribut- 
able partly  to  a  recognition  of  an  absence  of  like  curves. 
Or,  to  illustrate  this  fact  from  a  contrary  condition,  every- 
body admires  a  small  ankle  and  a  good-sized  calf.    Yet 


FIG.  82.— CIRCLES   DRAWN  ABOUT   A  FORM  IN   GRACEFUL  ACTION. 
SIDE   VIEW, 

See  page  356. 


the  moment  the  calf  becomes  so  large  proportionately  as 
to  interfere  with  the  suggestions  of  a  like  curve  in  this, 
and  in  the  outlines  of  the  hip,  almost  everybody  is  con- 
scious of  receiving  a  suggestion  of  disproportion. 

What  has  been  said  of  proportion  is  sufficient  for  our 
present  purpose;  i.  c,  to  indicate  the  general  principle 


358  THE    ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS . 

involved.  Those  who  may  wish  to  study  the  subject  fur- 
ther, as  applied  either  to  the  human  form  or  to  other 
products  in  the  arts  of  sight,  may  consult  pages  32  to 
253  of  the  author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Colour  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

HARMONY   OF   TONE    IN   THE   ARTS   OF   SOUNOl 

The  Effects  of  Rhythm  and  of  Harmony  Illustrate  the  Same  Principle — 
What  Causes  Loudness  and  Pitch  of  Tone — -What  Causes  Quality — 
Musical  Tones  Compounded  of  Partial  Tones  Caused  by  Vibrations 
Related  as  1:2,  2:3,  etc. — These  Partial  Tones  are  Merely  Repeated 
in  Scales— And  Chords — Musical  Harmony  Results  from  Putting 
Together  Notes  Having  Like  Partial  Effects — This  True  of  the  Most 
Complex  Arrangements — True  of  Poetic  Harmony. 

AS  stated  on  page  334,  the  most  important  difference 
between  the  effects  of  rhythm  and  of  musical  har- 
mony is  found  in  the  fact  that,  in  the  latter,  the  mind  is 
not  directly  conscious,  as  it  is  in  the  former,  of  divisions  or 
subdivisions  in  time.  It  is  conscious  merely  of  an  agree- 
able thrill  or  glow.  That  this  thrill  is  experienced  in  the 
degree  in  which  the  divisions  are  alike,  or  are  multiples 
of  those  that  are  alike,  is  a  scientific  discovery. 

The  chief  facts  with  reference  to  the  subject  for  which 
we  are  indebted  to  science  are,  first,  that  degrees  of 
loudness  are  determined  by  the  relative  amplitude  of 
vibrations.  A  string  of  a  certain  texture  and  length 
will  produce  a  loud  sound  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is 
struck  violently,  and,  therefore,  caused  to  cover  a  greater 
space  with  its  vibrations.  The  second  fact  is,  that  de- 
grees of  pitch  are  determined  by  the  relative  time  of 
vibrations.  A  string  shortened  in  length,  and  therefore 
vibrating  more  rapidly,  will  produce  a  higher  tone.  It  is 
from  this  fact,  that,  by  very  simple  experiments,  the  law 

359 


360 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  ESTHETICS. 


was  discovered  that  harmonic  tones  are  related  to  one 
another  according  to  certain  definite  ratios. 

After  physicists  had  proved  that  degrees  of  loudness  in 
sound  are  determined  by  the  amplitude  of  vibrations, 
and  degrees  of  pitch  by  the  time  of  vibrations,  they 
felt  that  nothing  was  left  to  determine  the  quality  of 
sounds  except  the  forms  of  vibrations.  It  was  natural 
to  suppose,  too,  that  the  waves  of  sound  produced  by 
strings,  or  by  wind-instruments, — a  trumpet,  or  a  human 
throat,  for  instance,  deviated  as  they  are  from  a  straight 
course  by  a  number  of  curves  and  angles, — must  neces- 
sarily be  more  or  less  compound,  and,  being  so,  must 
differ  in  form  for  different  kinds  of  instruments.  Con- 
siderations of  this  sort  caused  investigations  to  be  made 
into  the  forms  of  vibrations;  and  by  means  of  very 
ingenious  expedients, — by  magnifying,  for  example,  the 
vibrations  of  a  cord  or  pipe,  and  making  them  visible, 
through  using  an  intense  ray  of  light  to  throw  an  image 
of  them  upon  a  canvas  in  a  darkened  room, — the  forms 
assumed  by  the  vibrations  caused  by  many  of  the  ordi- 
nary musical  instruments  have  been  accurately  ascer- 
tained. These  forms  have  been  resolved,  according  to 
well-known  mathematical  principles,  into  their  constituent 
elements.  For  instance,  if  the  form  of  vibration  be  as  in 
the  first  of  these  examples,  it  may  be  resolved  into  the 
forms  that  are  in  the  second. 


A 

»«--«, 

r 

~\ 

y 

T 

QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  361 

In  short,  investigation?  of  this  character  have  shown 
that  musical  sounds  may  result,  and  usually  do  result, 
not  from  simple  but  from  compound  forms  of  vibrations; 
that  is  to  say,  in  connection  with  the  main  waves  there 
are  other  waves.  All  these  are  not  invariably  present, 
but  when  present  they  are  related  to  the  main  wave — i.  e., 
in  tones  that  make  music  as  distinguished  from  noise — 
as  2:1,  3:1,  4:1,  5  :i,  6:1,  J  :i,  8:1,9:1,  or  even  in  some 
cases  as  10 :l.  In  other  words,  these  smaller  accompany- 
ing waves  may  vibrate  two,  three  or  four  times,  and  so  on 
up  to  ten  times,  while  the  main  wave  is  vibrating  once. 
But  this  is  not  all.  The  sounds  of  these  compound 
waves  have  been  analysed.  By  means  of  instruments 
like  Helmholtz's  resonators,  which  are  small  brass  boxes 
or  globes  each  made  of  such  a  size  as  to  respond  sympa- 
thetically to  a  certain  pitch,  it  has  been  found  that  each 
form  of  wave  represented  in  a  note  produces  a  separate 
pitch  of  its  own.  When,  therefore,  a  tone  is  sounded  on 
a  violin,  we  hear  in  it  not  only  this  tone  caused  by  the 
vibrations  of  the  whole  length  of  the  string,  but  also  in 
connection  with  it  a  number  of  other  partial  tones,  as  all 
the  constituents  of  any  one  note  are  called,  each  of  which 
tones  has  its  own  pitch,  produced  by  vibrations  of  one- 
half,  one-third,  or  one-fourth,  etc.,  of  the  length  of  the 
string. 

The  difference  in  the  number,  the  combination,  and 
the  relative  loudness  of  these  partial  tones  in  a  musical 
sound  is  what  determines  its  quality  or  timbre.  In 
instruments  like  kettle-drums,  cymbals,  or  bells,  one  side 
is  almost  invariably  thicker  than  the  other.  For  this 
reason,  the  main  vibrations  are  not  uniform,  and,  of 
course,  the  partial  tones  cannot  be  so.  Such  instru- 
ments, accordingly,  are  less  musical  than  noisy,  and  are 


362 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


used  on  only  exceptional  occasions.  But  in  ordinary 
musical  sounds  the  partial  tones,  if  present  at  all, — they 
differ  as  produced  by  different  instruments, — are  indi- 
cated in  the  notation  below.  Notice  that  the  prime 
tone  is  counted  as  the  first  partial  tone ;  also  that 
the  second,  fourth,  and  eighth  partials  are  the  same  as 
the  prime  tone  with  the  exception  of  being  in  higher 
octaves. 


Partial  tones 
of  the  pitch 
of  C 


Of  F,  of  which  C  is 
the  third  and  near- 
est partial 


Of  G,  which  itself  is 
the  third  and  nearest 
partial  of  C 


The  notes  that  are  used,  G  &  J  SJ^>  m  the  degree  in 
which  they  are  long,  indicate  tones  which  the  reader 
needs  most  to  notice;  and  the  marks  after  the  letters 
indicate  the  relative  distance  of  a  tone  from  the  octave 
of  the  tone  which  is  the  standard  of  pitch.  C,  F',  or 
G',  for  instance,  are  one  octave  below  C,  F,  or  G,  and 
these  are  one  octave  below  c,  f,  or  g,  and  two  octaves 
below  c',  f,  or  g'. 

Glancing  at  the  above,  suppose  that  we  were  to  sound 
the  note  C,  and  then  to  sound,  either  after  or  with  it, — 
for  the  laws  of  harmony  have  to  do  with  the  methods  of 
using  notes  both   consecutively   and  conjointly, — notes 


MUSICAL    SCALES. 


363 


whose  partial  tones  connect  them  most  closely  with  C, 
— what  notes  should  we  sound?  We  should  sound  F, — 
should  we  not? — of  which  C  is  the  third  partial,  and  G, 
which  itself  is  the  third  partial  of  C.  This,  inasmuch  as 
every  C,  F,  or  G  of  whatever  octave  has  virtually  the 
same  sound,  would  give  us  the  following: 


E^H^ 


But  these  are  the  very  tones  accredited  to  the  "lyre  of 
Orpheus,"  which  represented  the  earliest  of  the  Greek 
scales. 

Let  us  add  to  these  notes  those  whose  partial  tones  are 
the  next  nearly  connected  with  C,  F,  or  G.  They  are 
D  the  third  partial  of  G,  E  the  fifth  partial  of  C,  A  the 
fifth  of  F,  and  B  the  fifth  of  G.     This  gives  us 

C— D— E— F— G— A— B— C, 
which  is  our  own  major  scale,  the  main  one  that  we  use 
to-day;  and  is  similar  to  one  used  by  the  Greeks  after 
theirs  had  been  expanded  to  seven  notes. 

Now  let  us  examine  the  tones  that  are  used  conjointly 
in  what  are  termed  chords.  As  a  rule,  the  notes  of  the 
ordinary  major  scale  are  harmonised  thus: 


F  d— Gg— AS g  = gZ 


C^— D=( 


:E: 


F 


■ri AsL 


sol 


^ 


-7 


^=gJ= 


■J 


2 


Let  us  compare  these  notes  with  the  scheme  of  the 
upper  partial  tones  of  C,  F,  and  G.  We  at  once  notice 
that  C,  F,  and  G  are  the  three  bass  notes  used   in  har- 


364 


THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 


monising  this  scale;  also  that  the  nearest  and  most  uni- 
versally present  partial  tones  of  C,  F,  and  G  are  those 
used  in  the  successive  chords. 

These  illustrations  are  sufficient  to  show  that  harmony, 
whether  we  apply  its  principles  to  consecutive  notes,  as 
in  melodies,  or  to  combined  notes,  as  in  chords,  involves 
bringing  together  sounds  that  are  composed  of  like  par- 
tial tones;  or,  as  we  might  say,  harmony  is  a  complex 
effect  produced  by  a  combination  of  like  partial  effects. 

Of  course  harmony,  like  rhythm  and  proportion,  often 
involves  very  intricate  arrangements  and  developments, 
but  through  them  all  can  be  detected  the  presence  of  this 
one  underlying  principle.  The  following,  for  instance, 
represents  a  common  way  of  accomplishing  the  result 
which  is  termed  "making  the  circuit  "  of  all  the  major 
keys.  Those  unacquainted  with  music  will  understand 
sufficiently  what  is  meant  when  it  is  said  that  the  chords 
of  one  key  are  often  discordant  with  those  of  another  key 
unless,  in  some  such  way  as  is  indicated  in  this  music,  an 
artificial   connection   has  been   made  between  the  two. 


— \&&   vJ&^ 


A 


-d — A 


^ 


cb 


w 


73 ^5 


1^3 


Notice  how  effects  of  unity  are  secured  throughout  by 


QUALITY  IN  POETRY.  365 

means  of  interchange  and  transition.  See  pages  311  and 
314.  Every  chord,  including,  of  course,  its  bass  note, 
contains,  at  least,  one  note  that  is  sounded  in  the  chord 
following  ;  and  thus,  as  applied  to  any  two  consecutive 
chords,  the  principle  of  putting  like  with  like  is  fulfilled. 

Harmony  in  music,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  be  an 
effect  of  unity  produced  when  complex  wholes  are 
grouped  by  putting  together  those  that  have  like  partial 
effects.  The  main  result  of  this,  as  intimated  on  page  310, 
is  consonance.  When  consonance  is  not  complete,  its 
general  effect  is  secured  through  using  such  methods  as 
those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and  transition,  which, 
nevertheless,  cause  all  the  divergent  parts  of  a  composi- 
tion to  assimilate.  (See  Appendix,  page  387.)  Because, 
too,  all  the  methods  in  the  chart  on  page  277  are,  more 
or  less,  connected,  music,  at  times,  reveals  traces  of  the 
influence  of  every  one  of  these. 

Some  may  suppose  that,  in  poetry,  there  are  no  effects 
corresponding  to  those  of  musical  harmony.  But  this  is 
not  so.  Inasmuch  as  poetry  uses  words,  the  articulation 
of  these  renders  them  more  clearly  distinguishable  from 
one  another  than  are  musical  notes;  and  there  is  not  the 
same  necessity,  as  in  the  latter,  for  merely  tonal  distinc- 
tions of  quality  and  pitch.  But  science  has  ascertained 
that  in  addition  to  the  pitch  on  which  a  vowel  or  conso- 
nant is  apparently  sounded,  it  has,  at  least,  one  partial 
tone  peculiar  to  itself,  which  tone  is  always  at  the  same 
pitch.  For  this  reason,  alliteration,  assonance,  and 
rhyme  all  involve  the  use  of  like  pitch;  consecutive  sylla- 
bles produce  different  consecutive  degrees  of  pitch,  i.  e., 
melodies,  or  what  are  termed  tunes  of  verse;  and  every 
syllable  containing  a  vowel  and  a  consonant,  like  an,  for 
instance,  contains  two  tones  that  may  or  may  not  har- 


366  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

monise.  For  these  reasons,  the  words  of  poetry,  though 
in  a  very  subtle,  but,  at  the  same  time,  suggestive  way, 
fulfil  the  same  methods  as  those  of  musical  harmony. 
See  the  author's  "Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and 
Music,"     Chapters  V.  to  XIL 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

HARMONY    OF    COLOUR    IN    THE   ARTS    OF    SIGHT. 

Production  of  the  Colours  of  the  Spectrum — Effect  of  Light  upon  Colours — 
Definition  of  Terms — Complementary  Colours — As  Produced  by  Light 
and  by  Pigments — The  After-image  in  Consecutive  Contrast — Simul- 
taneous Contrast — All  Colours  Impart  about  them  Tints  of  their  Com- 
plementaries — Principles  Determining  Use  together  of  Two  Colours — 
Of  Three  Colours — Of  Four  Colours — Consecutive  and  Simultaneous 
Contrast  Due  to  Physiological  Action  of  the  Eye — Correspondences 
between  Ratios  of  Harmonic  Colours  and  Tones — Owing  to  Minuteness 
of  Colour-Waves  Nothing  in  Colours  Corresponds  to  the  Different  Scales 
in  Music — The  Ratios  of  the  Two  Notes  of  a  Single  Musical  Scale 
Forming  the  Most  Perfect  Consonance — This  Ratio  as  Represented 
among  the  Colours — Colour  Harmony  as  Actually  Developed — Not 
from  Ratios  Occasioning  Vibrations,  but  from  Analysis  of  Light — 
The  Field-Theory  of  Colour-Harmony — Theory  Based  on  Psychological 
Effects — On  Physiological  Effects — Tone,  or  the  Predominant  Use  of 
One  Colour  in  a  Painting — Why  this  May  Fulfil  the  Same  Principle  of 
Harmony  as  the  Use  of  Great  Variety  of  Colour — Colour  Harmony  Re- 
sults from  an  Application  to  Colour  of  All  the  Principles  Unfolded  in 
Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. — Beauty  in  x\rt — And  Suggestion — Conclusion. 

IT  is  now  more  than  two  centuries  since  Newton,  an- 
alysing the  rays  of  the  sun,  detected  that  all  the  differ- 
ent colours,  except,  perhaps,  extreme  purple  are  contained 
in  light.  Most  of  us  know  how  to  reproduce  his  analysis. 
By  means  of  a  mirror,  the  sun's  rays  are  reflected  in  a 
small  band  through  a  narrow  opening  in  a  window-shade 
or  blind,  and  sent  into  an  otherwise  darkened  room. 
When  they  enter  this  room,  they  are  made  to  pass 
through  a  glass  prism.  The  prism  turns  the  band  of  rays 
aside  from  its  direction,  and,  at  the  same  time,  separates 

367 


368  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

it  into  many  bands  of  rays  which  are  coloured,  and  each  of 
of  which,  after  leaving  the  prism,  continues  in  a  straight 
line.  If  these  bands  fall  on  a  white  wall  or  screen,  each 
produces  a  different  colour,  and  all  together  a  series  of 
colours  in  which  we  recognise  all  that  are  in  the  rainbow. 
Nearest  where  the  white  would  have  fallen,  if  the  prism 
had  not  intervened,  we  find  red,  and  next  to  this  the 
other  colours  in  this  order:  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue, 
indigo,  and  violet.  This  series  of  colours  is  called  the 
Spectrum. 

If,  aside  from  the  Spectrum,  we  test  the  effects  of 
different  degrees  of  light  upon  colours,  we  find  that  in  a 
darkened  room,  blue  appears  to  be  dark  blue,  but  as  we 
gradually  increase  the  light  it  becomes  first  blue,  then 
light  blue,  then  pale  blue,  then,  in  light  of  great  inten- 
sity, loses  its  blueness  almost  entirely,  becoming  very 
nearly  white.  So,  too,  if  in  place  of  different  degrees  of 
light,  we  use  black  or  white  pigments,  mixing  them  with 
coloured  pigments,  we  find  the  colours  becoming  respec- 
tively darker  or  lighter. 

The  different  kinds  of  colours  are  termed  hues.  When 
hues  are  in  the  state  in  which  they  appear  in  the  spec- 
trum, they  are  called  full  or  high  colours.  If  darker  than 
in  the  spectrum,  the  colours  are  termed  dark,  if  lighter, 
light;  if  very  much  lighter,  pale,  or,  what  means  the 
same  thing,  broken.  When  full  colours  are  made  darker, 
their  different  degrees  of  darkness  are  termed  shades. 
When  they  are  made  lighter  their  different  degrees  of 
lightness  are  termed  tints.  The  degree  of  colouring  or  of 
dark  or  light  in  a  shade  or  tint  determines  the  tone,  as 
when  we  speak  of  a  golden  and  gay,  or  a  gray  and  sombre 
tone.  Paintings,  however,  are  not  generally  said  to  be 
distinguished  by  tone  except  when  producing  the  effect 


TERMS  APPLIED  TO  COLOURS.  369 

described  on  page  3SL  In  &  positive  zo\ouk  the  tint  or  shade 
of  a  single  hue  is  prominent ;  in  a  neutral  colour,  there  is 
so  much  of  a  mixture  that  there  is  no  predominating  hue. 
The  warm  are  the  reds,  browns,  oranges,  yellows,  and 
associated  colours;  the  cold  are  the  greens,  blues,  violets, 
purples,  and  associated  colours.  Primary  is  a  term  for- 
merly applied  to  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  becaused  they 
were  supposed  to  be  primitives  from  which,  when  mixing 
pigments,  the  secondary  colours,  orange,  green,  and  violet 
were  derived,  orange  by  mixing  red  and  yellow,  green 
by  mixing  yellow  and  blue,  and  violet  by  mixing  blue 
and  red.  For  reasons  to  be  given  by  and  by,  however, 
these  distinctions  between  primary  and  secondary  are  not 
now  considered  tenable. 

Let  us  return  to  the  spectrum.  If  all  the  colours  to- 
gether make  white,  it  follows  that  the  absence  from 
white  light  of  any  of  its  constituent  elements  must  pro- 
duce a  colour.  This  logical  inference  has  been  confirmed 
by  the  following  among  other  experiments.  Between 
the  prism  and  the  spectrum  cast  by  it,  according  to  the 
explanations  given  on  page  367,  a  lens  bounded  by  cylin- 
drical surfaces  is  introduced.  This  lens  is  so  constructed 
that  it  reunites  the  prismatic  bundle  of  rays  into  a  single 
band,  i.  e.,\t  restores  these  rays  to  the  same  condition  in 
which  they  were  before  they  reached  the  prism  from  the 
slit  in  the  window.  This  cylindrical  lens  now  gathers 
the  rays  together,  and  casts  upon  the  wall,  where  the 
spectrum  was  before,  merely  a  small  white  image  of  the 
slit  in  the  window,  giving  thus  a  proof,  in  addition  to 
the  others  just  noticed,  that  all  the  colours  together  make 
white.  If  now  between  the  cylindrical  lens  and  the  wall 
a  part  of  the  light  be  shut  off  by  means  of  a  screen,  a 
coloured  image  instantly  appears  upon  the  wall.  If,  for 
24 


370  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  sES THE  TICS. 

shutting  off  this  part  of  the  light,  one  use,  cemented 
to  a  plate  of  glass,  a  prism  finer  than  a  knife-blade, 
and  showing,  therefore,  no  sensible  dispersion  of 
colours,  although  its  power  of  refraction  remains,  it  will 
divide  the  rays  into  two  bands  which  will  form  two 
images  on  the  wall,  each  of  which  will  be  coloured.  In 
such  cases  the  colours  depend  upon  where  the  rays  are 
divided.  Beginning  with  the  rays  that  produce  the  red 
end  of  the  spectrum,  and  moving  the  dividing  prism 
gradually  toward  the  rays  that  produce  its  violet  end,  it 
is  found  that 

if  one  colour  be  red  the  other  is  bluish  green; 

"     "        "        "    orange  "       "       "  turquoise-blue; 

"     "        "        "    yellow  "       "      "  ultramarine-blue; 

"     "        "       "    yellowish  green  "       "      "  violet; 

"     "        "       "    green  "      "      "  purple. 

These,  then,  are  the  two  colours  which  together  make 
white,  termed  for  this  reason  the  complementary  colours. 
They  are  not,  as  some  will  notice,  the  colours  which  in 
former  times  were  supposed  to  make  white.  Those  were 
derived  from  experiments  with  pigments  in  the  following 
way :  It  was  found  that  red,  yellow,  and  blue  paint, 
when  mixed  together,  made  white,  or  rather  a  whitish 
grey.  It  was  supposed,  therefore,  that  if  two  colours 
were  to  be  used,  they  also,  in  order  to  represent  white, 
should  be  compounded  of  these  three  primitive  colours, 
as  they  were  called.  Artists  therefore  took  as  their  com- 
plementary colours 

red  and  green,  which  latter  they  had  found  could  be  formed  by  mixing  yellow  and  blue  ; 
yellow  and  purple,  "        "  "        "         "  "        "        "  "        "        blue  and  red  ; 

blue  and  orange      "       "         "        "        "  "       "        "  "        "        red  and  yellow- 

Some  years  ago  the  German  physicist,  Helmholtz,  re- 
vealed very  clearly  the  erroneousness  of  this  supposition, 
showing  that,   largely  because   of    the   character   of    the 


CONSECUTIVE  CONTRAST.  37 1 

ingredients  entering  into  pigments,  the  results  are  dif- 
ferent when  pigments  are  mixed  and  when  colours  them- 
selves are  mixed. 

Now  let  us  consider  another  fact  with  reference  to 
complementary  colours.  If,  after  looking  steadily  for  a 
few  seconds  at  a  white  wafer  on  a  black  ground,  we  turn 
our  eyes  to  a  white  or  gray  ground,  with  nothing  on  it, 
we  frequently  seem  to  see  a  black  after-image,  as  it  is 
called,  of  the  same  shape  as  the  wafer.  If  we  look  in  the 
same  way  at  a  bluish  green  wafer,  and  then  turn  our  eyes 
to  the  gray  ground,  we  find  on  it  an  after-image,  if  not 
of  bluish  green,  of  red,  i.  e.,  of  the  colour  which  comple- 
ments the  bluish  green.  So,  if  we  try  other  colours,  we 
find  if  not  these  colours  themselves,  their  complementary 
colours  in  the  after-images.  If,  when  we  turn  our  eyes 
away  from  the  wafer,  the  surface  at  which  we  look  be  of 
the  same  colour  as  the  wafer,  the  complementary  colour  in 
the  after-image  is  pale  and  faint;  if  the  surface  be  of  the 
colour  complementary  to  that  of  the  wafer,  the  comple- 
mentary after-image  is  more  brilliant  than  its  own  colour 
which  forms  the  background.  If  the  surface  be  of  any 
other  colour,  the  complementary  colour  of  the  after-image 
blends  with  it  and  produces  a  new  mixed  colour.  In  this 
way  the  after-image  of  the  bluish  green  wafer  would  be 
red  on  a  white  surface,  faint  red  on  a  bluish  green,  bril- 
liant red  on  a  red,  violet  (/.  e.,  red  mixed  with  blue)  on  a 
blue,  orange  (i.  c,  red  mixed  with  yellow)  on  a  yellow, 
and  so  on.      This  effect  is  termed  consecutive  contrast. 

There  is  another  effect  related  to  this  termed  simulta- 
neous contrast.  Charles  Blanc,  in  his  "Grammar  of 
Painting  and  Engraving,"  tells  us  that  Eugene  Delacroix, 
occupied  one  day  in  painting  yellow  drapery,  tried  in 
vain  to  give  it  the  desired  brilliancy,  and  said  to  himself, 


372  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

"How  did  Rubens  and  Veronese  find  such  brilliant  and 
beautiful  yellows?"  He  resolved  to  go  to  the  Louvre, 
and  ordered  a  carriage.  It  was  in  1830.  At  that  time  in 
Paris  there  were  many  cabs  painted  canary-colour.  One 
of  these  was  brought  to  him.  About  to  step  into  it,  he 
stopped  short,  observing  to  his  surprise,  that  the  yellow 
of  the  carriage  produced  violet  in  the  shadows.  He  dis- 
missed the  coachman,  entered  his  studio  full  of  emotion, 
and  applied  at  once  the  law  that  he  had  just  discovered, 
which  is,  that  the  shadow  cast  by  an  object  of  a  certain 
hue  is  always  slightly  tinged  with  the  complement  of  that 
hue, — a  phenomenon  that  becomes  apparent  when  the 
light  of  the  sun  is  not  too  strong,  and  our  eyes,  according 
to  Goethe,  who,  as  Eckermann  tells  us  in  his  "Conversa- 
tions," made  a  similar  discovery,  "rest  upon  a  fitting 
background  to  bring  out  the  complementary." 

An  explanation  for  the  reasons  for  consecutive  and 
simultaneous  contrast  is  attempted  in  Chapter  XXII.  of 
the  author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Colour  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture."  Here 
it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  two  deductions  from  the  phe- 
nomena. The  first  is  that  all  colours  have,  at  times,  the 
effect  of  imparting  the  tints  of  their  complementaries  to 
any  surface  adjoining  their  own.  In  such  cases,  if  the 
surface  have  no  colour,  they  produce  one  there;  if  it 
have  their  complementary  colour,  they  make  this  more 
brilliant;  if  it  have  some  other  colour  yet  not  their  own, 
they  cause  this  and  their  complementary  to  blend  and 
produce  a  mixed  colour  different  from  either.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  these  facts  render  it  exceedingly  difficult 
for  the  painter  to  secure  satisfactory  results  in  colours, 
whether  he  be  attempting  either  to  imitate  those  that  he 
sees    or    to    blend    any  colours  whatever  harmoniously. 


COLOURS  THAT  GO  TOGETHER.  373 

With  reference  to  the  latter  problem,  it  seems  to  be  a 
natural  conclusion  from  what  has  been  said  that  he  can 
always  put,  side  by  side,  the  complementary  colours;  as 
red  and  bluish  green,  orange  and  turquoise-blue,  yellow 
and  ultramarine,  yellowish  green  and  violet,  and  green 
and  purple.  But,  as  the  principle  underlying  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  complementary  colours  is  that  the  two 
make  white,  it  seems  to  be  equally  clear  that  the  artist 
can  place  side  by  side  any  two  colours  which,  when  mixed 
with  one  another's  complementaries,  can  complement; 
as  red  and  turquoise-blue,  for  instance,  because,  accord- 
ing to  the  principle  explained  on  page  372,  the  red  imparts 
a  bluish  green  tint  to  the  turquoise-blue,  and  the  tur- 
quoise-blue an  orange  tint  to  the  red.  Undoubtedly, 
some  of  the  most  effective  combinations  or  pairs  of 
colours,  not  complementary,  may  be  accounted  for  ac- 
cording to  this  rule.  The  two  are  harmonious  because, 
especially  when  one  of  the  colours  is  very  bright,  like  ver- 
milion, orange,  or  yellow,  it  is  possible  for  the  two, 
when  in  combination,  to  fulfil  the  principle  causing  us  to 
use  complementaries  even  better  than  would  complemen- 
taries themselves.  It  is  this  fact,  probably,  that  accounts 
for  the  satisfaction  taken  in  the  combinations  of  the  col- 
ours brought  together  according  to  a  colour  scale  of  Von 
Bezold  printed  in  his  "Theory  of  Colour. "  This  scale  need 
not  be  described  here.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  pairs 
of  colours  to  which  it  leads  are  much  the  same  as  those  to 
which  the  consideration  just  mentioned  applies,  and  some 
of  them  are  composed  of  the  colours  formerly  supposed 
to  be  complementary.     Von  Bezold's  pairs  are  these-. 

purple  and  green.  orange  and  ultramarine, 

carmine  and  bluish  green.  yellow  and  bluish  violet, 

vermilion  and  turquoise-blue.  yellowish  green  and  purplish  violet. 


3 74  ESSENTIALS  OF  MS  THE  TICS. 

Experience  has  shown,  he  says,  that  these  form 
even  better  combinations  than  do  the  complementary 
colours. 

It  follows,  almost  as  a  corollary  from  what  has  been 
said,  that  when  more  than  two  colours  are  used  any  num- 
ber of  these  can  go  together  which,  together,  or  mixed 
with  their  complementary  effects,  can  make  white.  This 
rule  applies  to  the  old-fashioned  primaries,  red,  yellow, 
and  blue,  and  to  the  secondaries,  orange,  green,  and 
purple.  Von  Bezold  develops  and  particularises  the  rule 
as  follows: 

carmine,  yellowish  green,  and  ultramarine, 
vermilion,  green,  and  bluish  violet, 
orange,  bluish  green,  and  purplish  violet, 
yellow,  turquoise-blue  and  purple. 

In  using  four  colours,  Von  Bezold — and  in  this  others 
agree  with  him — advises  marking  the  effect  strongly  by 
taking  two  pairs,  as,  for  example,  purple  and  green  to- 
gether with  carmine  and  turquoise-blue,  one  in  each  of 
which  pairs  is,  in  the  spectrum,  near  one  in  the  other, 
and  then  arranging  all  the  colours  so  that  those  which,  in 
the  spectrum,  are  near  together,  shall  not  meet.  See 
page  368. 

The  second  deduction  legitimately  drawn  from  the 
phenomena  of  consecutive  and  simultaneous  contrast,  as 
explained  on  pages  371  to  373,  is  that  the  facts  are  due, 
in  part,  at  least,  to  the  physiological  action  of  the  eye; 
i.  e.,  to  the  way  in  which  it  receives  the  influences  of 
light  from  without.  These  influences,  scientists  tell  us, 
are  caused  by  waves  which,  in  some  way,  communicate 
vibrations  to  the  retina.  Here  is  a  table  of  waves  and 
vibrations  prepared  by  Sir  Thomas  Young: 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  EFFECTS  OF  COLOUR. 


375 


Breadth  of  Wave. 

Vibrations  per  Second. 

Red 

Blue 

OOOO.266 
OOOO.256 
OOOO.24O 
OOOO.227 
0000.2II 
OOOO.I96 
OOOO.185 
OOOO. 1 74 
OOOO.167 

458,000,000,000,000 
477,000,000,000,000 
5o6,O0O,O0O,O00,00O 
535,000,000,000,000 
577,000,000,000,000 
622,000,000,000,000 

Violet 

658,000,000,000,000 
699,000,000,000,000 
727,000,000,000,000 

With  reference  to  this  subject,  however,  authorities 
differ.  In  one  of  the  latest  books  on  this  subject,  "Stud- 
ies in  Spectrum  Analysis,"  by  J.  N.  Lockyer,  the 
number  of  vibrations  causing  extreme  red  light  is  given 
as  392,000,000,000,000;  and  causing  extreme  purple  as 
757,000,000,000,000. 

If  there  be  any  correspondence  between  the  conditions 
causing  harmony  in  colour  and  in  tone,  we  ought  to  find 
the  ratios  between  series  of  vibrations  representing  the 
harmonic  colours  the  same  as  the  ratios  between  series  of 
vibrations  representing  the  harmonic  tones.  As  a  rule, 
however,  physicists  have  had  little  respect  for  those  who 
have  advocated  this  theory,  because  these  advocates  have 
usually  started  out  with  the  hypothesis  that  there  is  some 
absolute  and  necessary  connection  between  the  seven 
colours  of  the  spectrum  and  the  seven  notes  of  the  musical 
scale.  But,  as  a  fact,  there  may  be  more  than  seven  col- 
ours in  the  spectrum.  This  all  depends  upon  where,  as 
illustrated  on  page  370,  one  divides  the  rays.  Moreover, 
in  music,  seven  notes  are  used  merely  as  a  matter  of 
convenience.  There  have  been  scales  extensively  used 
of  four  and  six  notes,  and  possibly  our  own  might  be 
improved  by  the  addition  of  two  more.  There  is  a  prin- 
ciple, however,  as  was  shown  on  pages  362  to  364,  under- 


376  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

lying  the  formation  of  all  musical  scales,  as  well  as  of  all 
melody  and  harmony,  which  depends  upon  the  relative 
numbers  of  vibrations.  One  cannot  refrain  from  feel- 
ing, therefore,  that  it  is  logical  to  suppose  that  this  same 
principle  should  be  exemplified  in  that  which  causes 
colours  to  harmonise. 

It  does  not  allay  this  feeling,  to  remind  one  that  be- 
tween, say,  the  400  trillions  of  vibrations  causing  extreme 
red  and  the  750  causing  extreme  violet,  the  differences  in 
the  numbers  of  vibrations  do  not  correspond  to  those 
in  a  single  octave  in  music.  They  do  correspond  to 
those  in  the  musical  scale,  so  far  as  this  can  be  produced 
without  doubling  one  of  its  notes.  The  differences  cor- 
respond to  all  the  intervals  in  the  music  on  page  363,  be- 
tween Cand  B  inclusive.  If  an  upper  c  were  represented, 
then  (notice  the  music  on  page  362)  an  upper  d,  e,  etc., 
should  be  represented.  Otherwise  one  of  the  colours — 
that  corresponding  to  C — would  have  double  the  value  of 
each  of  the  others.  As  it  is,  we  have  in  the  colours  all 
the  range  of  intervals  corresponding  to  those  of  a  single 
octave  without  encroaching  upon  a  second.  The  possi- 
bility, however,  of  producing  differences  in  colour  is  much 
greater  than  that  of  doing  the  same  in  sound.  Indeed, 
when  we  consider  the  innumerable  shades  and  tints  not 
merely  of  one  colour  but  of  all  other  colours  in  connec- 
tion with  which  this  one  may  produce  mixed  effects,  we 
are  forced  to  recognize  that  the  range  of  a  single  colour- 
octave,  such  as  can  be  used  in  painting,  is  practically 
much  greater  than  the  range  of  seven  or  eight  tone- 
octaves,  such  as  can  be  used  in  music. 

Now  turning  to  the  musical  scale,  let  us  notice  what 
are  the  two  notes  between  C  and  B — i.  c. ,  between  the 
lower  do  and  the  si  of  the  scale  as  we  ordinarily  sing  it, 


COLOUR  AND  TONE  HARMONY 


177 


—which  form  the  most  perfect  harmonics.  Glancing  at 
the  representation  of  the  partial  tones  in  the  first  column 
of  the  music  on  page  362,  we  shall  find  that  these  two 
notes  are  g  and  c.  In  the  lower  scale,  between  C  and 
C,  there  is  no  partial  tone.  In  the  scale  above  this,  be- 
tween C  and  c  there  is  one  partial,  and,  therefore,  after 
c,  this  one  is  the  most  important  harmonic  partial  of  the 
series.  It  is  g.  This  g  is  the  third  partial  above  C; 
and  c,  in  the  same  scale,  is  the  third  c  above  C  The 
numerical  representative  of  ^  as  a  partial  is  3;  and  the 
numerical  representative  of  c  is  4.  .3  : 4,  therefore,  may- 
be said  to  be  the  ratio  representing  the  relationship  be- 
tween the  vibrations  causing  tones  which,  in  the  same 
octave,  are  the  most  nearly  harmonious. 

Let  us  observe  what  should  be  the  vibrations  causing 
the  complementary  colours  in  order  to  have  them  repre- 
sent this  ratio.     Here  we  have  it : 


Carmine-red  . 
Bluish  green  . 
Vermilion  .... 
Turquoise-blue  .  . 
Orange  or  Vermilion 
Turquoise-blue  .  . 
Orange  (?)  .... 
Ultramarine  (?)  .  . 
Yellow  (?)  .  .  .  . 
Bluish  violet  (?)  .  . 
Yellowish  green  . 

Violet 

Green 

Purple 


Number  of  Tril- 
lions of 
Vibrations. 


472 
630 
480 
640 
49I 
655 
500 

666 

540 

720 

560 
746 
5  So 

773 


Ratios. 


3  :  4 


These  numbers  of  trillions  of  vibrations,  with  exception 
of  those  in  the  pairs  marked  with  an  (?),  in  which  yellow 


378  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHE TICS. 

or  orange  appear,  are  almost  exactly  the  numbers 
assigned  to  the  colours  on  page  375  ;  and,  in  all  cases,  the 
two  colours  placed  together  are  the  same  that,  on  page 
373,  are  said  to  be  complementary.  As  for  yellow  and 
orange,  they  contain  so  much  light,  and  are  so  nearly 
alike,  that  the  boundaries  between  them  are  difficult  to 
determine,  and  we  may  be  justified  in  doubting  the  ac- 
curacy of  the  computations  made  with  reference  to  them. 
In  a  general  way,  it  seems  to  be  indicated  that  harmonic 
colours  are  the  results  of  vibratory  effects  upon  the  eye  of 
multiples  of  like  measurements,  thus  fulfilling  exactly  the 
analogy  according  to  which  harmonious  effects  are  pro- 
duced upon  the  ear.  It  could  be  shown,  also,  that 
where  three  or  four  colours  are  harmonious,  there  is  the 
same  relation  between  the  vibrations  causing  them  as 
between  those  of  three  or  four  chording  musical  notes. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  these  results 
have  been  recognised  by  those  who  have  developed  in 
painting  what  is  termed  colour-harmony.  Like  tone-har- 
mony, this  was  developed,  at  first,  by  artists  of  excep- 
tional taste,  knowing  little  and  caring  less  about  the 
scientific  reasons  underlying  their  choice  of  combinations. 
But,  after  art  has  developed  to  a  certain  extent,  scientists 
always  make  a  study  of  its  effects.  That  which  they 
discover  increases  not  only  the  knowledge  and  the 
appreciation  of  art  on  the  part  of  the  general  public,  but 
also  adds  not  a  little  to  the  resources  of  the  artist  and 
to  his  ability  to  make  further  progress. 

Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  colour-harmony,  so  far 
as  it  has  been  developed  from  the  contributions  of 
science,  has  been  based  upon  the  relations  between 
vibrations  in  the  eye  in  the  same  way  in  which  tone-har- 
mony has  been  based  upon  the  relations  between  vibra- 


THE  FIELD-THEORY.  379 

tions  in  the  ear.  The  numbers  of  the  latter  vibrations 
can  be  and  have  been  definitely  determined.  The  num- 
bers of  vibrations  causing  the  colours  have  not  been 
determined  except  approximately.  For  this  reason,  and 
very  wisely,  the  principles  of  colour-harmony  have  been 
developed  from  facts  which,  though  related  to  those  of 
vibration,  have,  unlike  them,  been  definitely  ascertained. 
The  different  stages  of  development  have  been  somewhat 
as  follows : 

The  discoveries  with  reference  to  the  complementary 
colours,  as  described  on  page  370,  led  to  the  natural  sup- 
position that  the  eye  takes  pleasure  in  seeing  these  two 
together;  and  as,  in  all  cases,  the  two  were  found  to 
make  white,  it  led  to  the  supposition  that  any  two  or 
more  colors  making  white  would  cause  harmony.  Not 
long  after,  too,  it  led  to  the  supposition  that  these 
colours  must  be  introduced  into  a  painting  in  just  such 
proportions  as  to  make  white.  This  was  the  conclusion 
reached  by  the  English  physicist  Field,  in  what  is 
termed  the  Field-theory.  For  instance,  because  he 
found  that  when,  mixed  in  proportions  of  8,  5,  and  3, 
blue,  red,  and  yellow  make  white,  he  argued  that  the 
quantities  of  these  colours  used  in  the  same  composition 
should  represent  these  proportions.  A  law  of  this  kind, 
however,  though  it  might  be  applied  to  decoration, 
would  evidently  interfere  with  one  of  the  first  requisites* 
of  the  art  of  painting,  namely,  that  it  should  represent 
nature.  In  how  many  landscapes  can  we  find  the  blue  of 
the  sky,  or  the  green  of  the  foliage,  or  the  bluish  gray 
of  a  lowery  day,  exactly  mingled  in  such  quantities  with 
the  warmer  and  lighter  yellows,  reds,  or  browns? 

On  the  face  of  it,  therefore,  this  theory  did  not  seem 
tenable.     Modern  artists  universally  reject  it.     They  tell 


3  80  ESSEN  TJA  LS  OF  JES  THE  TICS. 

us  that  the  slightest  spot  of  crimson  against  the  green  of 
a  forest,  or  of  yellow  against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  is  all 
that  is  needed  in  order  to  bring  out  the  brilliancy  of  the 
complementary  coloring;  and  they  point,  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  this,  to  effects  like  those  in  Jules  Breton's  picture 
entitled  "Brittany  Washerwomen,"  at  one  time  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  New  York,  where  a  very  little 
red  in  the  bodice  of  the  central  woman  is  enough  to  put 
fire  and  brightness  into  the  pervading  greenish  blue  tints 
of  the  whole.  What  is  thus  said  of  such  arrangements 
of  colour  is  true.  But  when  it  is  added  that  these  effects 
are  owing  to  merely  a  suggestion  given  to  the  mind,  one 
must  demur.  Those  who  say  it  have  forgotten  a  very 
important  principle  in  aesthetics.  That  is,  that  psycho- 
logical effects  (see  Chapter  II.)  must  harmonise  with 
physiological,  and,  as  the  latter  come  first  in  the  order  of 
time,  it  is  not  logical  either  to  overlook  them  or  to  fail 
to  consider  them  first. 

The  influence  in  a  painting  of  very  slight  quantities  of 
complementary  colouring  seems  to  suggest  the  importance 
of  the  method  of  interpretation  indicated  on  pages  375 
to  378.  If  we  may  suppose  that  a  colour  associated  with 
its  complementary  produces  in  the  eye  an  agreeable  effect 
because,  for  the  vibrations  causing  both  colours,  there  is  a 
common  multiple,  then  we  may  also  suppose  that  these 
colours  influence,  at  the  same  time,  the  organs  of  the  same 
retina  without  producing  any  sensation  of  jolting  or  jar- 
ring. All  the  vibrations  are  variations  of  the  same  unity 
in  that  they  are  partial  effects  of  the  same  single  impulse 
or  set  of  impulses,  resulting  in  a  free,  unrestrained  vibra- 
tory thrill  or  glow.  The  quantity  of  colour,  therefore, 
makes  no  difference  with  the  harmony  of  the  effect.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  that  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the 


TONE  IN  COLOUR.  38 1 

one  colour,  be  it  much  or  little,  should  exactly  coalesce 
vith  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the  other  colour.  It 
could  coalesce  in  this  way,  of  course,  in  several  different 
circumstances.  First  of  all,  it  could  do  so  when  there 
was  one  predominating  colour. 

To  those  acquainted  with  the  terminology  of  painting, 
the  mention  of  this  effect  recalls  that  which  is  ordinarily 
treated  under  the  designation  of  tone.  Tone  is  a  term 
often  used  as  if  it  means  merely  a  predominating  or 
sometimes  exclusive  employment  of  one  colour  varied 
only  by  the  tints  and  shades  resulting  from  the  effects  of 
different  degrees  of  light  Thus,  in  a  scene  representing 
moonlight  or  twilight,  or  even  a  storm,  especially  if  at 
sea,  there  would  necessarily  be  one  pervading  colour,  in 
some  cases  banishing  almost  the  suggestion  of  other 
colours;  and  such  a  picture  would  be  said  to  be  particu- 
larly characterised  by  tone.  For  instance,  in  the  painting 
by  Carl  Marr  in  the  New  York  Museum  entitled  "  Gos- 
sip," almost  every  prominent  object — the  window-cur- 
tain, the  table-cloth,  the  apron  of  one  of  the  principal 
figures,  the  bodice  of  another,  the  floor,  etc. — is  depicted 
in  white.  On  the  other  hand,  in  Fortuny's  "Spanish 
Lady,"  hanging  near  it,  almost  every  article  of  clothing 
is  depicted  in  black;  while  in  Granet's  "Monks  in  an 
Oratory,"  a  little  farther  on,  the  colour  of  the  monks' 
robes,  as  well  as  of  the  walls  and  woodwork,  is  all  brown. 
Such  paintings  are  said  to  be  characterised  by  tone,  and, 
as  this  quality  is  usually  understood,  it  is  difficult  to 
perceive  why  it  does  not  fulfil  a  different  law  of  har- 
mony from  that  which  is  fulfilled  through  a  use  of  great 
variety  in  colouring.  Indeed,  it  is  often  represented 
that  it  does;  as  if  the  theory  that  harmony  of  colouring 
is  produced  by  uniformity  of  colouring    were   antagon- 


382  ESSENTIA LS  OF  yESTHE  TICS. 

istic  to  the  theory  that  it  is  produced  by  variety. 
But  why  cannot  an  identical  law  be  perceived  to  be 
operative  in  both  cases?  Differences  in  tints  and  shades  of 
the  same  hue,  while  they  involve  differences  in  the  inten- 
sity of  the  sight-waves,  do  not  necessarily  involve  differ- 
ences in  their  rates  or  shapes.  Therefore  uniformity  of 
colouring  is  fitted  to  cause  all  the  vibrations  of  the  same 
retina  to  coalesce,  i.  e.,  to  cause  all  to  be  exact  subdivi- 
sions of  some  common  multiple.  But  the  same  effect  is 
produced  by  the  use  of  one  predominating  colour  with  its 
various  tints  and  shades,  enlivened,  as  in  the  case  of 
Jules  Breton's  "Brittany  Washerwomen,"  mentioned  on 
page  380,  by  an  occasional  introduction  of  some  tint  or 
shade  of  its  complementary  colour ;  and  it  is  produced  also 
when  both  complementary  colours  are  used  in  almost 
equal  proportions.  In  fact,  colour-harmony  may  result 
from  the  use  of  any  colours  whatsoever,  if  only  they  can 
be  made  in  someway  to  produce  in  the  organs  of  colour- 
apprehension  an  effect  of  unity.  This  effect  follows 
whenever  all  the  vibrations  of  the  retina  that  are  neai 
together  are  multiples  of  some  common  unit,  as  is  the 
case  when  adjoining  tints  and  shades  in  a  painting  are  of 
the  same  hue,  or  of  hues  that  form  complementaries,  or 
for  some  reason  allied  to  this,  as  indicated  on  pages  370  to 
374,  are  fitted  to  go  together.  If,  in  connection  with  these 
hues,  others  must  be  used  requiring  what  may  be  termed 
conflicting  forms  of  vibration,  these  others  must,  in  the 
painting,  be  remote  from  the  first,  and  be  connected 
with  them  in  accordance  with  methods  of  securing  partial 
consonance  like  those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and 
transition,  described  respectively  on  pages  311,  313,  and 
314.  Why  this  should  be  the  case,  may  be  surmised  by 
recalling  that  a  single  vibration   is  to  the  whole   retina 


HARMONY  RESULTING  FROM  UNITY  OF  EFFECT.    383 

about  what  a  single  wave  is  to  an  ocean.  On  an  ocean, 
divergent  forms  of  waves  would  not  be  recognised  to  be 
conflicting  were  they  widely  separated,  or  were  they 
changed  from  one  form  into  another  with  great  gradual- 
ly ;  and  were  thus  made — to  apply  the  term  of  physiologi- 
cal psychology — to  assimilate.   (See  Appendix,  page  387.) 

The  reader  will  recognise  now  that  the  use  of  gradation 
and  like  methods  in  painting  involves,  just  as  it  does  in 
music,  more  or  less  use  of  all  the  methods  mentioned  in 
the  chart  on  page  277.  Colour-harmony,  to  be  successful, 
must  be  a  result  of  an  application  of  the  same  endeavour 
after  unity  of  effect  which,  starting  with  the  principle  of 
putting  like  with  like  wherever  possible,  leads  to  a  careful 
study  and  embodiment  of  all  such  requirements  as  those 
of  variety,  complement,  principality,  subordination,  bal- 
ance, parallelism,  repetition,  alternation,  symmetry, 
massing,  interchange,  continuity,  consonance,  gradation, 
transition,  and  progress.  This  fact  is  developed  in  the 
author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Colour  in 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture." 

The  purpose  of  the  present  volume  has  been  to  make 
clear  in  what  sense  aesthetic  art,  when  possessed  of  the 
finest  and  highest  qualities,  from  its  first  conception  in 
the  mind  to  its  last  constructive  touch  in  the  product, 
is  a  result  of  a  man's  imagination  giving  audible  or  vis- 
ible embodiment  to  his  thoughts  or  emotions  by  repre- 
senting them  in  a  form  traceable  to  material  or  human 
nature,  which  form  attracts  him  on  account  of  its  beauty, 
and  is  selected  and  elaborated  by  him  into  an  artistic 
product  in  accordance  with  the  imaginative  exercise  of 
comparison  or  of  association,  modified,  when  necessary, 
so  as  to  meet  the  requirements  of  factors  which  can  be 
compared  or  associated  in  only  a  partial  degree.      Those 


384  ESSENTIALS  OFMSTHh  TICS. 

acquainted  with  recent  developments  in  art  will  recognise 
that  this  conception  of  it  is  essentially  different  from  the 
one  most  generally  accepted  in  our  own  times.  We  are 
constantly  hearing  it  asserted  that,  if  anything  portrayed 
in  art  be  "true  to  nature,"  this  fact  is  a  sufficient  warrant 
for  its  reproduction — in  plays  or  pictures,  for  instance— as 
well  as  a  trustworthy  test  of  its  excellence.  In  connection 
with  this  assertion,  those  who  —  mainly,  as  is  supposed,  for 
moral  reasons — object  to  some  of  the  practical  results  of 
applying  the  theory  involved  in  it  are  usually  represented 
to  be  victims  of  ignorance  or  bias  which  they  would  not 
manifest  had  they  been  sufficiently  cultivated  aesthetically. 
According  to  the  conclusions  reached  in  this  volume,  no- 
thing could  be  more  at  variance  with  the  truth  than  such 
assertions  and  representations.  Our  whole  argument  tends 
to  show  that  the  mere  fact  that  effects  are  "  true  to  nature  " 
by  no  means  justifies  their  use  in  art  of  high  quality. 
They  can  be  used  in  this  so  far  only  as,  in  the  first  place, 
they  are  in  themselves  beautiful,  and,  in  the  second  place, 
are,  aside  from  themselves,  suggestive,  or  capable  of  being 
made  suggestive,  of  the  artist's  thought  and  feeling.  Ugli- 
ness and  vileness  are  never  beautiful  in  themselves,  though, 
at  times,  some  feature  manifesting  them  may  enhance,  by 
way  of  contrast,  the  beauty  of  some  other  feature  which 
they  are  introduced  in  order  to  offset.  When  they  form 
the  sole  theme  of  paintings,  statues,  novels,  or  dramas,  as, 
unfortunately,  is  the  case  in  many  products  of  many  men 
greatly  praised  in  our  own  time — their  names  need  not 
be  mentioned, — the  result  is  opposed  to  the  first  principles 
of  aesthetics  still  more  than  of  ethics. 

Again,  according  to  the  theory  presented  in  this  book, 
effects,  though  beautiful  in  nature,  are  wrongly  used  in 


EXPRESSIVENESS    OF    ART.  385 

the  highest  art,  if  they  be  used  on  the  supposition  that, 
even  in  their  most  insignificant  features,  they  are  not 
vehicles  of  expression.  A  painting  ranks  higher  than  a 
photograph  and  a  play  than  a  phonograph  mainly  because 
one  can  read  the  thought,  share  the  emotion,  and  sym- 
pathise with  the  purpose  behind  not  only  its  general  con- 
ception but  every  minutest  part — every  line  or  word  — 
through  which  the  conception  is  presented.  It  is  illogical 
to  argue  that  this  fact  does  not  rule  out  of  the  domain  of 
high  art  a  very  large  proportion  of  what  artists  and  critics 
of  less  delicate  aesthetic  sensibility — not  to  say  sense — 
fancy  that  some  cannot  stomach  merely  because  they  have 
no  artistic  taste.  A  friend  of  mine  once  met,  on  a  Pacific 
steamship,  a  Japanese  fresh  from  his  own  country  who 
represented  himself  as  greatly  shocked  by  some  framed 
photographs  of  European  works  of  art  of  excessive  dis- 
robement  which  he  had  observed  hanging  in  the  Captain's 
cabin.  "Why?" — said  my  friend  to  him.  "It  is  only 
what  one  can  see  almost  every  day  in  the  life  of  your  own 
land."  "We  have  it  in  life,"  replied  the  Japanese,  "but 
we  don't  thrust  it  upon  attention,  and,  by  elaborating  it 
in  our  art,  make  a  public  confession  of  how  much  we  have 
been  thinking  and  feeling  about  it."  It  is  well  to  observe 
that  this  representative  of  the  most  artistic  of  living  races 
was  not  influenced  by  ethics  but  by  aesthetics, — by  the 
requirements  merely  of  delicate  instinct  and  good  taste. 

When  these  requirements  are  carried  out,  the  work  of 
art  cannot,  as  a  rule,  be  other  than  an  embodiment  of 
beauty.  Because  it  is  this,  and  because  the  artist  recognises 
also  that  he  is  revealing  himself  in  it,  and  desires  to  make 
his  revelations  worthy  ones,  it  will  also,  as  a  rule,  be 
beneficent  in  expression,  exerting  an  influence  tending  to 


3 86  ESSENTIALS  OF  JESTHE  TICS. 

enlighten,  to  inspire,  and,  as  Aristotle  puts  it  when  describ- 
ing the  aim  of  the  drama,  to  "  purify  "  mind  and  heart.  It 
is  gratifying  to  the  author  to  be  able  thus  in  closing  to 
point  out  that  the  conception  of  art  and  of  its  mission 
presented  in  this  volume  is  one — and,  probably,  the  only 
one — which  can  logically  be  made  to  harmonise  with  all 
those  conceptions  of  right  thinking  and  right  living  which, 
when  applied  to  practice,  have  proved  to  be  the  most 
effective  in  promoting  human  welfare. 


APPENDIX 

Beauty  According  to  Physiological  Psychology. 

THE  following  criticism  on  a  paper  read  before  the  Princeton  Philo- 
sophic Club  was  made  by  my  colleague,  Prof.  J.  Mark  Baldwin, 
and  afterwards,  at  my  request,  put  into  writing.  Coming,  as  it 
does,  from  one  who  has  made  a  special  study  of  physiological  psychology, 
and  who  has  no  interest  in  maintaining  the  particular  theory  of  beauty 
advocated  in  this  volume,  the  reader  will  recognize  that  it  is  a  better  con- 
firmation of  the  essential  agreement  between  this  theory  and  the  results  of 
modern  investigations  than  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  present  in  my 
own  language. 

"  Psychology  seems  to  be  tending  to  a  view  of  art  which  emphasizes  the 
subjective  or  emotional  side  of  what  we  call  aesthetic.  Considering  pleasure 
the  most  general  element  in  aesthetic  experience,  we  may  bring  the  topic 
under  the  head  of  Hedonics,  and  ask  what  are  the  marks  of  objects,  situa- 
tions, ideas,  which  make  them  suitable  for  arousing  in  us  the  particular 
kind  of  hedonic  experience  called  aesthetic,  i.  e.,  what  constitutes  beauty  ? 

"  Experiments  on  sensation-states — especially  on  the  apprehension  of 
visual  forms — result  in  showing  that  wherever  there  is  union  of  elements 
readily  and  easily  brought  about,  wherever  integration  is  affected  without 
strain  to  the  organ  stimulated,  at  the  same  time  that  the  elements  preserve 
their  individuality  in  a  measure,  we  experience  pleasure.  In  perception,  a 
similar  principle  is  found,  known  as  assimilation — to  which  current  psycho- 
logical analysis  is  reducing  the  old  laws  of  association.  When  a  new  expe- 
rience is  assimilated  readily  to  old  categories — fits  into  the  ready  moulds  of 
experience,  thought,  or  conception,  then  we  invariably  experience  pleasure 
— not  the  pleasure  of  pure  identity,  but  of  progressive  identity — of  a  process 
in  consciousness.  In  the  higher  spheres  we  find  the  same  fundamental 
movement.  Conception  is  a  process  by  which  detached  elements  are  ar- 
ranged, brought  to  unity,  sorted  out,  assimilated  ;  an  argument  is  such  a 
scheme  of  notions,  which  go  together  without  strain  or  conflict ;  and  a  beau- 
tiful character  is  one  whose  acts  of  will  are  consistent  with  one  another  and 
get  assimilated  readily  in  an  ideal  of  duty. 

"  Now  I  think  the  essential  thing  in  it  all — in  sensational  ease,  in  assimi- 
lation, in  logical  consistency — is  this  :   does  the  attention  with   both  its 

337 


388 


APPENDIX 


intellectual  and  its  nervous  processes  move  easily  ? — that  is,  is  the  psycho- 
physical process  impeded  or  advanced?  If  the  latter,  then  pleasure  ;  and 
aesthetic  pleasure — just  in  proportion  as  the  processes  to  which  the  attention 
ministers  all  tend  together  to  give  the  best  sense  or  emotion  of  accommo- 
dation. 

"  The  older  criteria  of  beauty  can  be  accounted  for  on  this  view  :  unity 
in  variety,  adaptation,  association,  meaning  or  expressiveness.  And  it 
tends  to  put  an  end  to  the  lasting  controversy  between  '  form '  and  '  mean- 
ing.' For  Wundt's  facts  showing  that  visual  beauty  of  form  is  due  to  ease 
of  eye-movements,  and  Zeising's  '  golden  section,'  and  Bain's  '  associations 
of  utility,'  and  the  '  teleological  judgments'  of  the  intellectualists,  and  the 
'  moral  worths  of  the  ethical  idealists,  as  well  as  the  '  real  beauty  in 
objects '  of  the  reaiists — all  these  get  their  due,  as  far  as  their  psychology  is 
concerned,  in  some  such  formula  as  this  :  the  sense  of  beauty  is  an  emotional 
state  arising  from  progressive  psycho-physical  accommodation  to  mental  ob- 
jects. Of  course  the  metaphysics  of  beauty  and  art  is  not  touched  by  this  ;  and 
it  does  not  prejudice  full  metaphysical  treatment." — (Wundt,  "  Physiolo- 
grsche  Psychologie,"4th  ed. ;  Ward,  art.  "  Psychology,"  in  "  Encyc.  Brittan.," 
gth  ed.  ;  Lotze,  "  Outlines  of  /Esthetics  "  ;  Marshall,  arts,  on  "  The  Field  of 
^Esthetics  Psychologically  Considered"  in  "Mind,"  1S92  ;  Baldwin,"  Hand- 
book of  Psychology,"  vol.  ii.,  chaps,  on  "  Pleasure  and  Pain  "  and  "  Emo- 
tions of  Relation,"  also  arts,  on  "Psychology"  and  "Sentiment,"  in 
preparation  for  "  Johnson's  Universal  Cyclopaedia,"  new  edition,  1893.) 

With  reference  to  this  subject,  it  will  be  noticed  that,  while  there  is  a 
general  accord,  and  no  conflict  whatever,  between  the  opinions  thus  briefly 
epitomized  and  the  view  of  beauty  presented  in  this  volume,  nevertheless  the 
two  are  not  identical  ;  although  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  latter  may  be 
supposed  to  be  merely  supplementary  of  the  former,  and  not  outside  the 
range  of  that  for  which  provision  is  made  as  by  Professor  Baldwin  in  the 
last  sentences  of  each  of  his  last  two  paragraphs.  The  differences  of  view, 
so  far  as  they  exist,  can  be  brought  out  best,  perhaps,  by  means  of  an 
illustration. 

If  we  drop  a  perfectly  round  stone  into  a  perfectly  quiet  pool,  all  the 
commotion  that  is  caused,  from  the  large  waves  immediately  encircling  the 
point  of  contact  off  to  the  minutest  waves  upon  the  most  distant  circum- 
ference, will  be  moved  as  by  one  effect  or  kind  of  effect  ;  in  other  words,  they 
will  sustain  a  certain  proportion  to  one  another  and,  relatively  considered, 
each  to  its  nearest  neighbor,  the  same  proportion  ;  or  if  we  strike  a  perfectly 
constructed  bell,  the  same  will  be  true  of  the  sound-waves  encircling  it. 
This  condition  represents  a  kind  of  assimilation  that  can  be  rightly  com- 
pared to  that  which  takes  place  in   connection  with  effects  conveying  the 


BEAUTY. 


389 


impression  of  beauty.  But  if  the  stone  or  the  bell  be  very  irregularly  shaped, 
the  ensuing  waves,  in  either  case,  will  appear  to  be  moved  by  more  than  one 
effect  or  kind  of  effect ;  and,  as  a  result,  their  influence  upon  the  eye  or  ear 
will  be  inharmonious.  The  same  result  will  follow  still  more  decidedly  if, 
near  the  first  stone,  a  second,  causing  opposing  effects  upon  the  eye,  be 
dropped  into  the  pool  ;  or  if,  at  the  same  time  with  the  first  bell,  a  second 
causing  opposing  effects  upon  the  ear  be  struck.  This  condition,  in  a  way 
to  be  indicated  presently,  represents  the  possibility  of  a  kind  of  assimila- 
tion which  can  take  place  without  likeness  to  that  which  distinguishes 
beauty. 

In  nature,  opposing  effects,  like  differently  produced  waves  on  a  pool,  can 
often  be  seen  to  assimilate  ;  and  we  have  a  certain  interest  in  watching  the 
result.  So  with  the  sense  of  accommodation,  the  one  to  the  other,  and,  by 
consequence,  of  progressive  identity  of  the  different  stages  of  logical  pro- 
cesses. But  notice  that  in  these  it  is  necessary  only  that  two  or  more  very 
nearly  connected  conceptions  should  assimilate,  whereas  in  beauty — as 
will  be  recognized  upon  recalling  the  conditions  underlying  rhythm,  versi- 
fication, musical  harmony,  proportion,  collected  outlines  of  columns,  arches, 
windows,  roofs,  even  the  tones  of  a  single  scale  or  the  colors  of  a  single 
painting, — it  is  necessary  that  whole  series  and  accumulations  of  effects 
should  assimilate  ;  that,  so  far  as  possible,  everything  presented  should 
seem  to  be  the  result  of  putting  like  effects  (not  necessarily  like  forms — see 
page  30)  with  like.  This  requirement  of  beauty  appears  to  be  met  by  saying 
that,  in  it,  the  amount  of  assimilation  is  increased, — that  it  results  in  the 
degree  in  which  the  processes  to  which  attention  ministers  all  tend  together 
to  give  this  sense  of  accommodation.  But  even  this  statement  seems  insuf- 
ficient. In  the  degree  in  which  pleasure  of  any  kind  whatever  predominates, 
the  consciousness  of  opposing  effects  must  be  subordinated  to  that  of  assimi- 
lation. Distinctively  aesthetic  pleasures  differ  from  those  afforded  by  logical 
connection,  or  by  mere  sensational  ease  or  assimilation  not  only  in  the  relative 
amount  of  likeness  in  them,  but  also  in  the  relative  comprehensiveness  of  this. 
There  may  be  physical  pleasure  in  which  there  is  little  or  no  complexity, 
and  therefore  no  assimilation  between  effects  from  sources  essentially  differ- 
ent, such,  for  instance,  as  effects  that  appeal  to  the  senses  and  those  that 
appeal  to  the  mind  ;  and  the  same  is  true  of  mental  pleasure  ;  and  in  both 
forms  of  pleasure,  because  of  greater  narrowness  of  excitation,  there 
may  be  more  intensity — more,  that  is,  which  induces  to  thrill  and  rapture, 
tears  and  laughter — than  in  aesthetic  pleasure.  A  person  is  more  apt  to 
become  hilarious  when  being  tickled  or  when  hearing  good  news  from 
the  stock  market,  than  when  reading  Shakespeare.  But  the  peculiarity 
of  aesthetic  pleasures  is  that  while  they  lose  in  intensity  they  gain,  as  a  rule, 


39°  APPENDIX 

in  breadth.  The  latter  effect  follows  not  only  from  the  relative  amount  of 
likeness  in  them  ;  but  still  more  from  the  range  and  different  qualities  of  the 
sources  of  this.  In  their  most  complete  phases,  as  has  been  shown,  aesthetic 
pleasures  blend  the  results  of  that  which  is  most  important  in  both  physical 
and  mental  stimulus,  widening  one's  outlook  and  sympathies  especially  in 
the  direction — for  this  is  distinctive  in  them — of  enabling  imagination  to  per- 
ceive subtle  correspondences  between  things  material  and  spiritual  which 
otherwise  might  not  reveal  their  essential  unity.  The  fact  is,  as  pointed  out 
on  page  160,  that  the  effects  of  beauty  are  satisfactory  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  are  felt  to  accord  with  every  possible  influence  exerted  at  the  time  when 
they  are  experienced.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  so  far  as  they  result  from 
vibrations,  or  in  connection  with  vibrations,  some  of  these  are  beyond  the 
circumference  of  conscious  experience  ;  but  all  of  them,  nevertheless,  like 
the  minutest  and  most  distant  waves  upon  a  pool,  moved  as  in  our  first  illus- 
tration, seem  at  the  time  to  be  proportional  parts  of  a  universal  rhythm. 
Often,  in  fact,  they  seem  to  be,  and  possibly,  to  an  extent,  they  always  are, 
parts  of  that  larger  rhythm  which,  coming  down  through  life  and  death, 
winter  and  summer,  waking  and  sleeping,  inhalation  and  exhalation,  pulse- 
throb  and  stillness,  extend  back  through  the  alternating  effects  of  metre  and 
proportion,  tone  and  hue,  to  others  of  a  nature  almost  infinitely  subtle,  but 
which  are  just  as  necessary  to  the  life  of  the  spirit  as  the  beat  of  the  heart 
to  that  of  the  body.  To  this  conception  of  beauty  the  idea  of  sensational 
ease  or  assimilation  is  necessary  as  an  accompanying  effect ;  but  it  is  a  ques- 
tion whether,  considered  even  as  a  point  of  departure  for  development,  the 
idea  includes  all  that  is  in  the  germ,  or  in  that  part  of  it  which  most  clearly 
reveals  the  originating  cause.  One  could  not  be  conscious  of  the  thrills  of 
pleasure  connected  with  doing  a  deed  of  disinterested  kindness,  were  it  not 
for  unimpeded  processes  in  the  circulatory  systems  of  his  physical  organism. 
But  these  do  not  account  for  all  the  effects  entering  into  such  an  experience 
or  possible  to  it,  even  if,  as  at  times  in  the  presence  of  beauty,  it  awaken  a 
sense  of  nothing  not  distinctly  physical.  A  cause  to  be  satisfying  must  be 
capable  of  accounting  for  all  the  facts.  Can  this  be  affirmed  of  the  pro- 
cesses that  have  been  mentioned  ?  Are  they  not  rather  effects  accompanying 
others  which,  in  connection  with  these,  are  attributable  to  something 
deeper  in  essence  and  more  comprehensive  in  applicability  ? 


INDEX. 


Abruptness,  art-method,  277, 
312-316 

.-Encid,  117,  188 

Aerial,  perspective,  92,  93,  262 

^Esthetic  arts,  6:  aim  of,  39,  40; 
pleasure  in,  389,  390;  princi- 
ples coincide  with  those  of 
ethics,  384, 385  ;  use  of  term,  iv 

After-image  in  colour,  371 

Aim,  the  mental,  represented  in 
pitch,  199 

Allegorical  painting,  166,  168 

Alliteration,  279,  365 

Alteration,  art-method,  277,  303 

Alternation,     art-method,     222, 

3°3 
Alum  Bay,  Talfourd,  162 
American  Journal  of  Psychology, 

323 

Analogy  between  representation 
in  sound  and  sight,  214;  in 
work  of  the  artist,  56,  65,  67. 
See  Comparison  and  Imagina- 
tion 

Ananias,  Death  of,  Raphael,  233 

Ancient  Art,  History  of,  Winck- 
elmann,  183 

Ancient  Mariner,  The,  Cole- 
ridge, 29 

Angelo,  Michael,  72,94-97,  181, 
188,  224 

Angles,  meaning  of,  244-252. 
See  Outlines 

Annual  Register,  46 

Apollo  Belvedere,  170 

Architecture,  Byzantine,  251, 
252;  elements  of  expression 
in,  213-268;  Gothic,  31,  101, 


219,  251-253,317,318;  Greek, 
101-108,  219,  251-253;  imita- 
tion in,  15,  97-100;  involves 
an  external  product,  1 5  ;  Moor- 
ish, 31;  perspective  in,  101- 
108,  335;  phase  of  conscious- 
ness represented  in,  145-149; 
progress  represented  in,  318; 
proportion  in,  335,  340-344, 
355;  related  to  scenery,  31; 
Renaissance,  31;  representa- 
tion in,  99,  124-129,  252; 
representation  in,  272,  279; 
separated  from  painting  and 
sculpture,  172-174;  styles,  76, 
77;  thought  expressed  in,  15, 
124-129 

Ariadne,    171 

Aristotle,   34,    294 

Arm  gestures,  meaning  of,  230, 
232,    240-243 

Arnold,  M.,  212 

Art,  a  method,  2;  fine,  5,  6,  16; 
modern  Hedonic,  view  of, 
387,  388;  nature  made  human, 
4,  10;  not  communication, 
109-129;  not  imitation,  76- 
108;  versus  religion,  48-51; 
versus  science,  51-57 

Art  of  Painting,   Reynolds,    52 

3°5 

Art-impulse,  39-55 

Art  in  Theory,  36 

Art,  its  Laivs  and  the  Reasons  for 
Than,  Long,  189,  250,  305 

Artist,  60,  137-140;  his  mental 
action  versus  that  in  religion 
or  science,  39-58;  his  temper- 
ament, 57-62;  how  far  he 
thinks  of  both  form  and  signi- 


391 


392 


INDEX. 


Artist — Continued 

ficance  when  composing,  75: 
how  far  his  tendencies  are 
cultivated,  62-67 

Artistic,  its  distinctive  tendency 
in  art.  178-180;  versus  the 
religious,  48-51;  versus  the 
scientific,  52-58 

Artlessness,  2 

Aspirate  tone ,  206-2 1 2 ;  analogue 
in    colour,    255,    263-267 

Assimilation  in  mental  effects 
of  art  as  related  to  mental 
pleasure,  319,  365,  383,  387- 

39°. 
Association   and  comparison   at 
the  basis  of  art-effects,  27-31, 
35,    146,    147.    15°.    !97.    J98- 
209,   211,   220,   244,   269,  270, 
278 
Assonance  in  poetry,  279,  365 
Austrian  National  Hymn,  20,  21 


B 


Balance,  art-method  of,  277, 
283,  285-294,  302,  305 

Baptistry  of  Florence,  98 

Barye,  97 

Baudelaire,  C,  74 

Bavaria,  Statue  of,  189 

Beau,  Les  Principe  s  de  la 
Science  du,  Chaignet,  183 

Beautiful,  The,  179-184;  Essay 
on  the  Sublime  and  the  Beauti- 
ful, Burke,  181 

Beauty,  16-37;  according  to 
physiologicalpsychology,  387— 
390;  complete,  18;  complex, 
21-32;  curve,  the  line  of,  352, 
354;  definition  of,  32-37; 
dependent  on  form,  18-22; 
dependent  on  thought  or 
feeling  expressed,  18,  20,  24- 
32,  215,  216;  essential  in  nat- 
ural objects  to  be  reproduced 
in  art,  384-386;  harmony  an 
element  of,  22-32,  389,  390;  in 
colours,  lines,  sounds,  21-23; 


in    human    faces,    349,    350- 
theories  concerning,  34-36 

Beaux-Arts,  17,  39 

Beecher,  H.  W.,  65 

Beethoven,  64,  77,  81,  139,  208, 

3°3 
Beggar  Boys.  Murillo,  192 
Beverley  Minster,   266 
Binocular  vision,  350,  351 
Biographia  Literaria,  Coleridge, 

45 
Black,    253-255,    264-268.      See 

Colours 
Blair,  Rhetoric,  185 
Blake,  95 

Blanc,  C,  224,  248,  307,  371 
Blind  Tom,  47 

"  Bloody  Mary  "  architecture,  76 
Blue,    254,    255-258,    261,    283, 

368-377;  with  black  or  white, 

261,263-265,267.  See  Colours 
Bolton,  T.  L.,  323 
Borough,  The,  Crabbe,   189 
Bos,  Abbe  du,   17 
Bougereau,  89 
Brain,        determining       mental 

power,    63 
Breadth,    art-method    of,    304- 

306,  312 
Breton,  Jules,  89,  90,  259,  380, 

382 
Briefc    uber   die    cestJictische  Er- 

ziehung  des  Menschen,  Schiller, 

40 
Brilliant,  The,  179,  182-185 
Brown,  G.  B.,  40 
Browning,  R.,  56,  135,  191,  198, 

211,  314;  obscurity  of,  56 
Building  enclosed  by  circles,  354 
Bulwer,  14 
Burke,  E.,   181 
Burning    of    Borgo,      Raphael, 

193 
Burns,  189 
Byron,   154 
By   the   North   Sea,    Swinburne, 

314 
Byzantine      architecture,      251, 

252 


INDEX. 


393 


Cabanel,  89 

Casar,  Julius,  Shakespeare,  211, 
232,  271 

Campbell,  189,  204 

( 'anterbury  Talcs,  189 

Caravaggio,  122,  123,  192 

Card  Players,  Caravaggio,  112, 
122,  123,  192 

Carlyle,  obscurity  of,  56 

Cathedral,  Cologne,  226;  colours 
appropriate  in,  261,  262 

Cave  of  Elephanta,  99 

(Yntral-Point,  277,  299-301,  304 

Chaignet,   183 

Character  manifested  uncon- 
sciously   and    subconsciously, 

x34 

Chase,  93 

Chateau  de  Randau,  343 

Chaucer.   189 

Chiaroscuro,   305 

Chiefs'  houses,  Australia,  100 

Children,  artistic  tendencies  of, 
55,  59,  60 

Chords,  musical,  determined  by 
partial  tones,  361-365 

Christian  versus  artistic  ten- 
dencies. 49,  50 

Classification  in  art-composi- 
tion, 272-280,  282-285 

Claude,    121 

Climax,   304 

Closing   gesture,   235-239 

Clothing,  proportions  in  human, 
344346 

Cloud,  The,  Shelley,  191 

Coburn,  46.  47 

Cold  colours,  254,  255,  261,  264- 
268,  369.     See  Colours 

Cole,  168 

Coleridge,  29.  45 

Cologne  Cathedral,  226 

Colours,  analogues  with  tones, 
254-268;  beautiful  when  com- 
plex, 22,  23;  complementary 
or  contrasting,  256,  369-383; 
dark,    light,    high,    full,    pale, 


broken,  warm,  cold,  primary, 
secondary,  shades,  tints,  etc., 
85,  86,  368,  369;  derived  from 
pigments,  370;  derived  from 
sunlight,  367-370;  harmony 
of.  23~25.  367"383:  history 
of  harmony-development  of, 
3  7q-383;  meaning  of,  73,  85- 
9S>  253_268;  two  or  more, 
fitly  going  together,  373,  374; 
variety  and  unity  of  colour 
involve  the  same  principle, 
381,  383;  values  in,  85,  86,  88, 
89;  what  is  tone  in,  381 

Comin1  thro'  the  Rye,  82 

Communication  not  the  aim  of 
art,  109-129 

Comparison  at  the  basis  of  art, 
146,  147.  15°.  156.  157-  27°- 
272,  276,  277,  279,  312,  333. 
See  Like  with  Like 

Complement,  art-method  of ,  277, 

283,  286,  287, 298 
Complementary    or    contrasting 

colours,    256,    369-383 
Complexity  in  beautiful  effects, 

21-32,  244,  246,  277,  283 
Complication,      art-method     of, 
a  277.  3°4,  306,  307,  308 
Composition  in  art,  11-14,  269- 

,  3i9 
Comprehensiveness,   art-method 

of,  277,  297,  298 
Confusion,    art -method   of,    277, 

284,  285,  3  1  1 

Congruity,  art -method  of,  277, 
297-299,   310,   311 

Conscience,  37 

Conscious  versus  unconscious 
mental  action,  44-56;  in- 
fluence of  each  on  art,  39-58, 

i34.    i39.    I77-I93 
Consciousness,     phases     of,     as 

represented  in   different  arts, 

141-176 
Consonance,  art-method  of,  277. 

310-314.     See  Harmony 
Continuity,  art-method  of,  277, 

304,  307-309 


394 


INDEX. 


Contrast,  consecutive,  in  colour, 

37!~373;  in  art-  IS6<  x57.  277. 
282-284;  in  drawing,  3;  in 
nature,  282-284;  in  paint- 
ing, 156,  157,  256;  simultane- 
ous, 371-373-  See  Comple- 
mentary and  Variety 

Coriolanus,  Shakespeare,  184 

Corot,  8,  89,  95 

Correggio,  89,  290,  305 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  The, 
Burns,  189 

Counteraction,  art-method  of, 
277,  286,  287 

Costumes  related  to  proportion, 
346 

Crabbe,  163,  189 

Crane,  W.,  19,  221,  223,  247, 
249 

"  Crazy  Jane  "  architecture,  76 

Creation,  The,  Hayden,  199 

Creative,  The,  in  art,  4,  132-134 

Criticism,  Essay  on,  Pope,  30, 
199 

Cultivated  taste,  37 

Curves,  in  nature,  244-252,  353, 
354;  lines  of  beauty,  252-253; 
meanings  of,  in  gesture ,  nature , 
and  architecture,  234,  240- 
252 


Daubigny,  93,  95 

Dallas,  E.  S.,  66 

Dante,  50,  75,  76,  117 

David,  8 

Davis,  T.,  204 

Day  Dream,  A,  Tennyson,  117 

Day  is  Done,  The.  Longfellow, 

152 
Death  of  Ananias,  Raphael,  193, 

233 

Decamps,  93 

Decline  of  Carthage,  The.  Tur- 
ner, 309 

Defeat  of  Attila,  Raphael,    193 

Degeneracy,   Nordau,   74 

Delacroix,  85,  371 


Delaroche,  166 

De  Medici,  Tomb  of,  96 

Descent  from  the  Cross,  Frontis- 
piece, Rubens 

Description,  in  poetry,  1 51-154, 
158-165;   in   that   of    Homer, 

i58.  159 

Deserted  Village,  The,  Gold- 
smith, 189 

Design,  Lectures  on,  Opie,  165 

Detail  in  drawing,  3 

Detaille,  93 

Diaz,  95 

Dignity  of  effect,  in  architecture, 
293,  302;  in  sculpture,  172 

Dissonance,  art-method  of,  277, 

3" 

Distance,  in  architecture,  101- 
108;  in  colour,  89-93,  263;  in 
drawing  of  size,  light,  con- 
trast, and  detail,  3;  in  line, 
89-92,  93,  94;  represented  by 
size,  218-222 

Don  Juan,  opera,  208 

Dou,  89 

Dresden  Gallery,  121 

Duration  or  time  in  music  and 
poetry,    197,    198 

Dutch    School,    190 

Dwight,  J.  S.,  114 


E 


Eckermann,  372 

Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts,  17 

Education,    effects    of,    on    the 

artist,  62-67 
Edwards,  Miss.  288 
Effects     of     distance     on     size, 

light,  contrast,  and  detail  in 

drawing,  3 
Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard, 

An,  198 
Elliptical     shape,     of     field     of 

vision,  351;  of  vases,  354,355'. 

in  the  human  form,  355-357; 

why  usual  in  works  of  art  and 

of  beauty,  352-357 


INDEX. 


395 


Elocution,  relation  of,  to  other 
arts,  10,  ii,  13;  to  expression 
in  music  and  poetry,  196-212  ; 
in  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture,  196,  213-268 

Elephanta,  Cave  of,  99 

Emotion,  artistic,  causes  of,  55- 
57,  60;  exerted  in  imagina- 
tion, 55-60;  its  influence  upon 
music    and   other    arts,    113- 

115.  i35-*4°>  143.  ^47~^S° 
Energy  as  represented,  by  lines, 

222-225;  by  tones,   198,   199 
Entablature,   102 
Epic,  The,  185-189,  194 
Essay    on   Criticism,    Pope,    30, 

z99         .      .  .      . ,        . 

Ethics,  principles  coincide  with 

those   of   aesthetics,    384,   385 

Excursion,  The,  Wordsworth, 
160-162,  189 

Expression,  beauty  in,  18,  20, 
24-32;  elements  of,  in  arts 
of  sight,  213-268;  in  arts  of 
sound,  195-212;  its  character 
in  art,  132,  133;  its  represent- 
ative effect,  50,  51,  78.  See 
Significance,  Thought,  and 
Representative 

Expressional  factors  emphasised 
in  art,   131-133 

Extension  or  size,  how  repre- 
sentative in  art,  214—222 

External  product,  the  highest 
art  involves  an,  10-15 


Face,  human,  different  styles  of 
beauty  in,  18,  20,  349,  350; 
Greek  type  of,  349,  350;  pro- 
portions of,  345-350 

Facial  expression,  228-229 

Faerie  Queen,  The,  189,  211 

Farnese  Hercules,  215 

Faust,  209 

Feeling  as  represented,  in  art, 
55-57, 60,  135-140,  143,  147- 
150;  m  music,  112-115,  143, 


147-150.     See    Emotion    and 

Imagination 
Feet  in  poetic  measures,  326,  327 
Fergusson,   173 
Ferdinando  and  Elvira,  Gilbert, 

199 
Field-theory  of  colour  harmony, 

.379 

Figurative  language  in  poetry, 
52.  53-  55.  56,  83,  84,  in, 
115,  118,  144,  150-154 

Fine  arts,  5,  6 

Finger  gesture,  234 

Fist  gesture,  234 

Flaubert,  74 

Florence  Baptistry,  172 

Fontainebleau-Barbizon  school 
of  art,  93 

Force,  43;  in  arts,  of  sight,  222- 
225;  of  sound,  197-199;  life- 
force,   43,   44 

Form,  development  of,  124,  126; 
expression  through  human, 
228-244;  in  art,  6,  7,  17,  18, 
20,  69-78;  proportions  of 
human,  344,  345.  355-358; 
representative  elements  of, 
in  arts  of  sight,  213-268;  in 
arts  of  sound,  195-212;  ver- 
sus significance,  68-78 

Fortuny,  86,  89,  381 

Foster,  Dr.  M.,  350 

Fromentin,  93,  95 

Fuseli,  186,  190,  193 


Gautier,  T.,  74 
Gay  Science,  The,  Dallas,  66 
Genesis  of  Art-Form,  The,  33,  276 
Genius,  60,  64-67,  138-140 
Gerome,   41,   89,    191,    290,    291 
Gesture,   70,   196;  as  related  to 
representation  in  arts  of  sight, 
213,  227-244;  forms  of,  242- 
244;  meanings  of,  227-242 
Ghiberti,  98 
Gilbert,    199 


396 


INDEX. 


Girlhood  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
Rossetti,  71 

Giuliano  de'  Medici,  Tomb  of, 
96,    224 

Gladiator,  The  Dying,  193 

Goethe,  8,   57,   67,   75,   139,  372 

Goldsmith,    189 

Good,  The,  in  art,  179,  180 

Goodyear,    101,    103 

Gossip,  C.  Marr,  86,  381 

Gothic  architecture,  31,219,279; 
gradation  in,  317,  318;  per- 
spective in,  10 1 ;  progress  in, 
318;  proportions  in,  219,  340; 
representation  in,  99,  126, 
127,  251-253 

Gounod,  209 

Gradation,  art-method.  277,312- 
318 

Grammar  of  Painting  and  En- 
graving, 224,  248,  307 

Grand,  The,  in  art,  179,  184,  185 

Granet,  87    381 

Grant,  150 

Gray,  198,  212 

Greece,   7 

Greek,  architecture,  251-253, 
279;  perspective  in,  101— 108, 
335;  proportion  in,  219,  333- 
340;  temples,  219;  representa- 
tion in,  98;  variations  in  mea- 
surements of,  103-108 

Green,  254,  256,  261,  365-368, 
377  ;  with  black  or  white,  264, 
265,  268.     See  Colours 

Gregorian  Chant,  202 

Guido,  8 

Guttural  tone,  206-212;  ana- 
logue in  colour,  255,  263,  264, 
265 

H 

Hals,  89 

Hamlet,  184,  304 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  181 

Hand  gestures,  meanings  of, 
230-243;  place  where  made, 
230-232 ; shape  of,  232-242 

Handbnch  der  Kunstgeschichte, 
192 


Handel,  81,  208 

Hands,  peculiar  to  man.  9,  10; 
at  basis  of  art-expression,  9, 
10,  196 

Harmonious  effects,  correspond 
in  colour  and  music,  375-378; 
in  beauty,  22-32,  389-390; 
on  the  mind,  30-32 

Harmony,  as  an  element  of 
beauty,  22-32,  389,  390;  in 
colour  depends  on  physical 
action  of  the  eye,  374-383; 
in  music,  359-365  ;  in  painting 
384.  385;  in  poetry,  365,  366; 
in  sound  and  colour  corre- 
spond, 375-378;  same  in  prin- 
ciple when  produced  by  one 
colour  and  by  all  colours, 
382,   383;    versus   proportion, 

334 
Haydn,  199 
Hebrew  poetry,   299 
Hedonic    character   of    aesthetic 

pleasure,  387 
Hegel,  33 
Heine,  124 
Helmholtz,  370 
Henry  IV.,  183;  VI.,  152;  VIII., 

80,   152 
Hercules,  Farnese,  215 
Herrick,   204 
Historic  art,  186-191 
Hogarth,  8,  168 
Homer,  138,  158,  159,  188,  287; 

descriptions  of,  158,  159 
Home   they  brought    her  warrior 

dead,    294,  295 
How    They     Brought     the     Good 

News,  198 
Human,  as  an  element  of  art,  4, 

5,  8-1 1 ;  form,  proportions  of, 

344,  345-  355-358 
Humanities,  The,  11 
Hunting  Song,  199 
Hypnotism,  45,  46 


Ideality,  5x-55.  57.  58 


INDEX. 


397 


Idealism  in  art,  179 

Iliad,  The,  188,  198 

77  Penseroso,  139 

Imagination,  12,  27,  31-33,  48, 
51-55,  80,  115,  117,  146,  246; 
continuous  work  in  originat- 
ing and  developing  art-form, 
12,  126;  realm  into  which  art, 
especially  poetry,  can  lift  one, 
1 51-154;  definition  of,  115; 
source  in  subconscious  mind 
and  emotion,  55-60;  suscep- 
tible of  training,  65-67 

Imitation,  42,  60,  74;  in  archi- 
tecture, 15,  97-100,  108;  in 
music,  80-83,  J99>  2°2>  2°7» 
208;  in  poetry,  80,  83,  84, 
198-202,  204,  205, 208;  versus 
representation  in  all  the  arts, 
70-110.  See  Association  and 
Comparison 

Imitative,    The,  in  art,   2,     60, 

_    74 

Importance  indicated,  by  long 
time,  197,  198;  by  large  size, 
217-222 

Incongruity,  art-method  of,  277, 
297-299 

Individuality  of  effect  in  art, 
137-140 

In  Memoriam,  84 

Inspiration,  43,  44,  48,  66;  con- 
nection between  it  and  prac- 
tice, 65,  66;  and  the  subcon- 
scious, 46-48,  60-66.  See 
Genius 

Intellectual  influence  of  music, 
114 

Intelligibility,  not  the  result  of 
art,   no 

Interchange,  art-method  of, 
277,  311-314,  in  music,  314, 

3X5-  365 
Interspersion,     art-method     of, 

277.  3°4,  3°6.  3°7 
Investigation    and    observation 

in  science,  48,  51 
Israels,  89,  93 
Italian  national  flag,  20 


Jewish  Cemetery,  Ruysdael,  120 
Julius  Ccesar,  Shakespeare,  211, 
232,  271 


Karnes,  Lord,  57 
Kant,   27,  28,   29,   33 
Kaulbach,    168,    189 
Kedney,  33 
Kinglsey,  Charles,  192 
King  Lear,  Shakespeare,  84 
Knowledge,  51 
Kostroma,  Church  of,  218 
Kritik  der  Urteilskraft,  27 
Kugler,  192 


Lady  of  Lyons,  The,  Bulwer,  14 
L'Allegro,   Milton,   303 
Landscape    gardening,    10,    156, 

i57 

Landscape  with  Waterfall,  Ruys- 
dael,    120 

Laocoon,  The,  159,  160,  183; 
statue,  123,  193.  224,  310 

Leaving  for  Work,  J.  F.  Millet, 
61 

Length,  representing  what  ?  228, 

235 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  224 

Lerolle,  93 

Lessing,  art-theory  of,  159,  160, 
168,  183 

Life  and  movement  as  repre- 
sented in  poetry  and  sculpture, 

94-97 

Life-force,  43,  44 

Light  and  shade,  19,  86-97,  29°> 
304-306,  315,  316 

Lightning  calculators,  46,  47 

Like  with  Like,  in  art-composi- 
tion, 23,  279,  324;  in  harmony, 
364;  in  proportion,  336,  337. 
See  Classification,  Comparison, 
Composition,   and   Repetition 


39^ 


INDEX. 


Line,  academic,  classic,  roman- 
tic, picturesque,  naturalistic, 
89 

Lines,  beautiful  when  complex, 
22,  23;  if  curved,  352,  353; 
meanings  of,  when  angular, 
rounded,  and  straight,  243- 
252;  in  architectural  and 
linear  perspective,  93,  94, 
1 01 -1 08;  in  arts  of  sight,  227, 
228 

Lines  illustrating,  action,  249; 
light  and  shade,  19;  repose, 
223 ;  storm,  221 

Lion  Hunt,  The,  193,  259 

Long,  S.  P.,  189,  250,  305 

Longfellow,  14,  115,  116,  152 

Lost  Love,  The,  184 

Loudness  in  music,  how  pro- 
duced physically,  359 

Louise,  Queen,  20 

Luini,  166 

M 

Made,  Art  is  a  thing,  5,  10-15 

Marien  Platz,  Munich,  229 

Marr,  C,  86,  381 

Marryat,  F.,  44 

Matthews,  B.,   308;   W.   S.   B., 

325 

Maison  Carrie,  Nimes,   103-105 

Massing,  art-method  of,  277, 
304-307 

Marx,  294 

Maud,  Tennyson,  191 

Medici,  Tombs  of  the,  96,  97 

Meissonier,  89,  90,  189 

Meistersinger,  209 

Melodies,  5;  representative,  82, 
83,  203-205;  similar  in  song 
and  speech,  82,  83,  202,  204, 
205 ;   in   words   as   in   poetry, 

365>  366 
Melrose  Abbey,  216 
Memory,  44,  45,  46.  62,  63,  66, 

67 
Mental   effects,  in  architecture, 

124-129;      in     beauty,      24- 


32;  in  music,  114,  115;  in 
painting,  118-123,  See  Signi- 
ficance, Thought,  etc. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  271 

Mercury   Flying,  214,  215,  217 

Metre  or  measure  in  music  and 
poetry,  324-327 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  A, 
53.  186 

Millet,  J.  F.,  61,  91,  93,  95,  120, 
190 

Milton,  66,  67,  75,  117,  139,  180, 
188,   199,  210,  303 

Miltonian,  5,  133 

Mind,  as  influenced  in  art,  5 ; 
as  implied  in  art,  146;  as 
represented  in  art,  274-278; 
conscious  versus  subconscious, 
39-58,134,139,177-193.  See 
Significance  and  Thought 

Modern  Chromatics,  Rood,  315 

Monks   in   an   Oratory,   Granet, 

87,  381 

Moral,  or  point  of  a  story,  116, 
187,    188 

Morland,    8 

Morning,  Claude,  121 

Mort  d' Arthur,  Tennyson,  117 

Moses,  Angelo,  181,  188 

Motive  as  represented  in  pitch, 
199-205 

Movement  as  represented  in 
architecture,  318;  in  pictures 
and  statues,  91-97,  159,  160, 
165-169,  317,  318;  in  poetry, 
159-165 

Mozart,  47,  60,  64,  77,  139,  208 

Murillo,    192 

Music,  effects  of,  distinguished 
from  those  of  poetry ,  1 1 1  - 1 1 3 , 
148-154;  elements  of  expres- 
sion in,  195-212;  emotion,  as 
expressed  in,  11 2-1 15,  143, 
i47-i5o;harmonyin,359-365; 
imitation  in,  5,80-83,  199,202, 
207,  208;  involving  an  exter- 
nal product,  11,  12;  medicinal 
effects  of,  149;  phase  of  con- 
sciousness represented  in,  142, 


INDEX. 


399 


Music — Continued 

143,  146,  151;  representation 
in,  78,  80-83,  II4>  XI5'  I5I> 
199-201;  rhythm  in,  23,  320- 
328;  scales  and  chords  in, 
359-365 

Musical  effects,  complex,  21-23; 
different  from  poetic,  111- 
113.    I49-IS4 


N 


Natural,  The,  2-5;  distinguished 
from  the  artistic,  2 ;  scenery, 
as  represented  in  art,  244- 
253,  274-278;  study  of,  in  art, 

7'   8  ,   ,       , 

Nearness    represented   by  large 

size,   218-222 

Newton,    52,   60 

Nordau,   Max,    74 

Normal  or  pure  tone,  206-212; 
its  analogue  in  colour,  255, 
263,  267 

Novel,  religious  and  moral  in- 
fluence of  the,  50,  51 


O 


Obscurity  is  sometimes  artistic, 
56 

Observation  in  art,  48 

Odyssey,  The,  287 

Offenbach,  77 

Offshore,   Swinburne,   288 

O  Mary,  Go  and  Call  the  Cattle 
Home,   Kingsley,   192 

Opening   gestures,   235-240 

Opie,  165 

Orange,  254,  256,  261;  with 
black  or  white,  265,  267,  268, 
368-377.    See  Colours 

Oratory,  not  a  purely  represen- 
tative art,  10  155,  156;  phase 
of  consciousness  represented 
in,  144.  See  Elocution  and 
Gesture 

Organic  form,  art-method  of, 
277.  293-296,  300 


Ornament  in  Art  and  Dress,  C. 
Blanc,  307 

Orotund  tone,  206-212;  its  ana- 
logue in  colour,  255,  263,  264, 
267 

Othello,    117,    212 

Outlines,  meanings  of,  in  hu- 
manity, nature,  and  art,  242- 
252 


Painting,  an  external  product, 
13,  14;  elements  of  expression 
in,  213-268;  not  merely  imi- 
tative, 80,  81, 84-97,  II8-i23; 
phase  of  consciousness  ex- 
pressed in,  144-148,  158-160; 
thought  expressed  in,  13,  14, 
1 18-123;  thought  in  contrast 
with  that  in  architecture,  1 73— 
175;  with  that  in  music  and 
poetry,  158-169;  with  that 
in  sculpture,  169-172.  See 
Colour,  Harmony,  and  Propor- 
tion 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Archi- 
tecture as  Representative  Arts, 
100,  228 

Pantomime,  10,  13 

Paradise  Lost,  66,  181,  188,  199, 
210 

Parliament,  Houses  of,   220 

Parallelism,  art-method  of,  277, 
299-302,  307 

Partial  tones,  361-365 

Parthenon,   101,  103,   107,  336 

Pastoral  symphonies,  81 

Patti,  205 

Payne,  287 

Pectoral  tone,  206-212;  ana- 
logue in  colour,  255,  263,  264, 
265 

Pedant's  Proposition  of  Mar- 
riage, 238 

Pediment,  Greek,   102 

Penrose,  103,  107 

Personality  in  art-works,  130- 
140 


40o 


INDEX. 


Perspective,  aerial,  92,  93,  262; 
in  architecture,  101-108;  lin- 
ear, 3,  93,  94,  217-220,  262, 
331,  332;  preparation  for  pro- 
portion in  architecture,  335 

Peter  Bell,  54.  55 

Pheidias,    138 

Phonetic   gradation,   313 

Photographic  effects  at  the 
Parthenon,   101 

Picturesque,  The,  171,  179,  181, 
182,   184,   185,  306 

Piloti,    191 

Pitch,  analogue  in  colour,  214, 
225,  227;  degrees  of  it  as  pro- 
duced in  music,  359,  360; 
meanings  of  it  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  190-205, 
225-227;  musical,  334,  359. 
362-365;  poetic,  365,  366 

Plato,  34,  294,  295 

Play,  40 

Play-impulse,  40-43 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  Campbell, 
189 

Poe,  2ii,   287 

Poetic,  sounds  versus  musical, 
111-113,  355,  366;  versifica- 
tion and  metre,  324-328 

Poetry,  an  external  product,  12, 
13;  contrasted  with  music, 
111-115,  1 48-1 54,  contrasted 
with  painting  and  sculpture, 
158-169;  elements  of  expres- 
sion in,  195-212;  harmony 
and  melody  in,  365,  366;  imi- 
tation in,  80,  83,  84,  198-202, 
204,  205,  208,  210-212 ;  metre 
and  versification  in,  324-328; 
phase  of  consciousness  repre- 
sented in,  144-154;  represen- 
tation in,  52,  53,  55,  56,  83, 
84,   115-118,  144-  i5I7I54 

Poetry  as  a   Representative  Art, 

158.  328 
Pollice  Verso,   41 
Pope,  A.,  30,   198,  199 
Pope,  The,  21,  50 
Poussin,   193,  224,  231,  248 


Poutou  Temple,  China,  280 
Practice  necessary  to  art,  63-66 
Preller,  170 

Prelude,  The,  Wordsworth,  54 
Pre-Raphaelites,  90 
Princess,  The,  182,  295 
Principality,  art-method  of ,  277. 

285,  287-293,  305,  312 
Progress,     art-method    of,    277, 

3I2>  3J3.  3*5.  3r7-3i9 
Proportion,  23,  24,  320,  328- 
358;  corresponding  to  rhythm 
not  harmony  of  sound,  329- 
335;  determined  by  apparent 
not  actual  measurements, 
335'  33^;  in  architecture, 
340-344,  355;  indicated  by 
lines  and  figures,  straight, 
rectangular,  or  curved, 
340-358;  in  human  face, 
345-349;  in  human  form, 
344,  345-  355-358;  in  nature, 
331,  332;  in  painting,  331, 
332  ;  necessitated  by  the  mind, 
229-333  ;not  to  be  confounded 
with    perspective,     101,     102, 

335 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Colour,  23,  101,  ^58,  372, 

383 
Psalm  of  Life,  116 
Pure  tone.     See  Normal 
Purple,  254,  255-258,  261,  368- 
377  ;  with  black  or  white,  261, 
263-265,    268.   See   Colours 
Pythagoras,  26,  34 


Q 


Quality  of  tone,  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  197,  205- 
212;  compared  to  colour,  255, 
256;  source  in  shapes  of  sound 
waves,  and  in  partial  tones, 
360,    361 

Queen  Anne  style  of  architec- 
ture,   76 


INDEX. 


40I 


R 


Radiation.    See  Central-Point 

Rainy  Day,  The,  14 

Rape   of   the   Sabines,    Poussin, 

193,  224,  250 
Raphael,   72,  76,   119,   137,   139, 

166,   167,   169,   193,  250,  285, 

288,  290,  298,  316 
Ratios,    in   musical   tones,    361; 

in  proportion,  336,  337;  why, 

must  be  small,  336,  337 
Realism,    179 

Realistic  art,   185-190,   194 
Red,    254,    256,    261,    262,    283, 

368-377;  with  black  or  white, 

265,  267,  268.     See  Colours 
Reingold,  203 

Religion,   48;  versus  art,   48-51 
Religious  tendency  in  art,  178- 

180 
Rembrandt,  89,  315 
Remoteness  indicated,  by  colour, 

92,  93;  by  lines,  3,  93,  94;  by 

small   size,    218-222 
Repetition,  art-method  of,  269- 

276,   277,  304,  310,  311,  312. 

See     Comparison     and     Like 

with    Like. 
Repose  in  landscape  and  figure, 

247 
Representation,    aim   of   art,    4, 

78;   of    personality,    130-140; 

versus    communication,    109- 

129;  versus  imitation,  79—108. 

See        Architecture,       Music, 

Painting,     Poetry,     Sculpture 
Reynolds,   Sir  J.,   52,   157,   189, 

224,  3°5>  3".  312 

Rhyme,    279,    365 

Rhythm,  23,  24,  320-328;  in 
nature,  321,  322;  in  nerve- 
action,  322,  323;  versus  har- 
mony,  334,   359 

Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry 
and  Music,  328,  366 

Richelieu  Pavilion,   225 

Romanesque    architecture,  251, 
252 
26 


Rood,  315 

Rossetti,  71 

Roundness,     representative     of 

what?  228,  234 
Rousseau,  89,  93 
Rubens,    Frontispiece,    76,    119, 

169,   193,  290,  305 
Ruskin,  225,  248,  306,  315 
Ruysdael,    120,    121 


St.  Mark's,  Venice,  227 

Sargent,   73,   89 

Scales,  musical,  determined  by 
partial  tones,  362,  363 

Schnorr,  76 

School  of  Athens,  Raphael,  167 

Schiller,  40,  57,  67 

Science,  48,  versus  art,  51-56, 
60,  67 

Scientific  tendency  in  art.  178- 
180 

Scott,  Sir  W.,   199 

Sculpture,  13,  14;  colour  of,  260, 
261;  dignity  of,  172  elements 
of  expression  in,  213-268; 
phase  of  consciousness  ex- 
pressed in,  144-148;  subjects 
of,  260;  thought  expressed  in, 
118,  123,  169-172;  versus 
painting  or  architecture,  169- 
174.  See  Imitation,  Repre- 
sentation, and  Painting 

Sentiment,  57,  58;  not  sentimen- 
tality, 58  . 

Setting,  art-method  of,  277, 
299-302 

Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture, 
Ruskin ,   225 

Shade.      See  Light  and  Shade 

Shades  of  colours,  86,  368 

Shadows,  87 

Shakespeare,  8,  53,  67,  76,  80, 
84,  117,  137,  152,  183,  184, 
186,    191,   210-212,   232,   271, 

275.  3°4  _ 
Shakespearian,   133 


402 


INDEX. 


Shape  as  representative,  227, 
228,  244-253;  with  texture, 
88,  89.     See  Outlines 

Sharpness  as  representative, 
228,    234 

Shelley,  83,  191 

Siege  of  Corinth,  The,  154 

Siegfried,  80,  81,  199,  208,  209 

Significance,  20,  69-78;  in  archi- 
tecture, 15,  124-129, 244-253; 
in  colour,  253-268;  in  gesture, 
227-243;  in  music,  80-83,  114, 
115,  142,  143,  146,  150,  199- 
209;  in  outlines,  228,  243- 
253;  in  poetry,  53,  54,  55-  56, 
83,84,  115-118,  144,151-154, 
158-169, 195-212;  in  painting 
13,  14,  118-123,  158-172;  in 
sculpture,  144,  147,  169-172; 
versus  form,  68-78 

Simple,  The,  179,  184,  185 

Sistine,  Chapel,  Rome,  188; 
Madonna,    72 

Size,  how  representative,  21 4- 
222 

Skill,   46;  acquired,  63-66 

Smith,   A.,    83 

Soldier's  Return,   Relief,   97 

Song  of  Italy,  A,  154 

Sounds,  compared  with  colours, 
254-268;  elements  of  repre- 
sentation in,  195-212;  sus- 
tained and  unsustained  in 
music  and  poetry  1 11— 113. 
See  Harmony  and  Music 

Space  in  art,  160,  165,  169 

Spanish  Lady,  A,  Fortuny,  S6, 

381 
Spencer,  H.,  40,  42,  51 
Spenser,    E.,    189,   211 
Spirit  in  man,  how  shown,  130- 

140 
Spiritual,    131-140 
Stael,  Madame  de,  175 
Star-Spangled  Banner,  The,  28 
Statuesque,  The,   171 
Steen,  89 
Stimson,   3 
Storm,  The,  Millet,  91 


Stradella,   114 

Straight  lines,  representative  of 
what?  244-253 

Strength  as  represented  by 
lines,     220-225 

Subconscious,  The,  44-56,  134, 
I39>  1 7 7—193  ;  expression  of  it 
can  be  trained,  60-67 

Sublime,   The,    1 79-1 81 

Subordination,  art-method  of, 
277,  285,  287,  288,  293,  298 

Suckling,  152 

Suggestion,  in  art,  28-31;  con- 
nected with  minutest  parts 
as  well  as  with  whole  concep- 
tion of  an  art-work,  384,385. 
See  Representation,  Signifi- 
cance, and  Thought 

Sustained  sounds  in  music  and 
unsustained  in  poetry,  their 
significance,  111-113 

Swinburne,  154,  288,  314 

Symmetry,  art-method  of,  277, 
286,  291,  292,  299,  301,  302, 
308 

Sympathies,  Arts  appeal  to,  11, 
81,  84,  134-140 

Symphony,  what  it  represents, 
114,    115 


Tadema,   A,   89 

Taj   Mahal,   281 

Talfourd,     162 

Tannhauser,  28,  209,  298 

Taste,   37,   38 

Temperament,   artistic,    59,   60, 

i37-!39 
Teniers,  190 
Tennyson,    84,    117,    135,    153, 

165,   182,   191,  208,  210,  295, 

3*4 

Terborch,  S9 

Texture  represented  by  colour, 

88,  89 
Theory  of  Colour,  Van   Bezold, 

373 

Tin-  king  and  the  Book,  135,  314 


INDEX 


403 


The  Voyage  of  Life,  Cole,  168 
Thought  as  represented,  in  ar- 
chitecture, 15.  124,  129,  244- 
253  ;  in  music,  80-83,  ZI4-  IJ5> 
142,  143,  150,  199-209;  in 
poetry,  115-118,  144-154, 
158-165,  185-212;  in  paint- 
ing, 13,  14,  118-123,  156,  165- 
172;  in  sculpture,  144-149, 
169-172;  in  whole  range  of 
art,  141-176.  See  Representa- 
tion and  Significance 
Time,  or  duration,  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  150-165, 
197,  198;  in  pictures,  159, 165- 

i69,  31?.  3l8 
Tints,  86,  368 
Tissington  Spires,  245 
Titian,  76,  89,  119,  123,  192,  224, 

3°5>  3".  312 
Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici,  96 
Tone  in  painting,  381 ;  in  sound, 

see  Quality 
Tones,  partial,   and  their  effects 

on     harmony,     quality,     and 

scales,  361-365 
Training  in  education  and  art, 

63-66 
Transfiguration,   The,    Raphael, 

288,  289,  298 
Transition,  art -method  of,  277, 

3I2-3J7.    365 
Troyon,    89,    93 
True,  The,  179,  180 
Tunes  of  verse,   204,  205,  365, 

366 
Turner,  275,  308,  309 


U 


Ugliness  never  characterising 
the  principal  theme  of  an  art- 
work,   384 

Unity,   as   an   art-method,  277- 

283-  285.  301-  3°7-  3o8>  3J3' 
318,  319;  as  an  element  of  all 
artistic  effects,  23,  32-34,  252 
University  at  Sydney,  126,  127, 
310 


Unsustained    sounds  in  poetry, 

111-113 
Utility  not  the  aim  of  art,  6,  39, 

40 

V 

Value   in  painting,   85-90 

Van  Beers,  125 

Van  Bezold,  373,  374 

Van  Dyke,  J.  C,  95 

Variety,     art-method     of,     277, 

280,  284,  302.  311,  319 
Variation    in    measurements  of 

Greek    temples,    103-108 
Vase,   explanation   of  shape  of, 

,354,    355 
Venus  of  Capitol,  171 
Versification,  324,  325,  328 
Vibrations,  23-26, 147-149  ;  caus- 
ing    colours,     324,     374-383J 
causing   tones,    324,359-365; 
universal,  389,  390 
Vileness      never    the     principal 

theme  of  an  art- work,  384 
Virgil,    188 
Vision  of  Constantine,  Raphael, 

193 
Visualising     effects     of     poetry, 

I5I"I54 
Vocal     organs     as     occasioning 
artistic  expression,  9,  196 

W 

Wagner,  28,  32,  77,  80,  Si,  199, 
203,  204,  207,  209,  297 

Wahrheit  und  Diching,  8 

Walker   Museum,   344 

Walkiire,   203,  204,  207 

Warm  colours,  254,  255,  261- 
268.      See  Colours 

Wave  theory,  147-149;  in  col- 
ours, 374-383:  in  tones,  359- 
365 

Webster,  D.,  63 

Webster,  N.,  79 

Wellington,  150 

West,  B.,  76,  172 


404 


INDEX 


White,    255,     261;    all     colours 

together  make,  368-370,  379; 

with  other  colours,  263,  267, 

268 
Whittier,  212 
Wilde,  O.,  74 
Willesden  Church.  292 
Willems.   F.,   76,  89 
William.  Emperor,  20 
Winckelmann,    183 
Woman    Taken     in     Adultery, 

Poussin,   231 


Wordsworth,    54,    55,     75,    160- 
162,  164,  184,  189 

Y 

Yellow,     254,     256,     261;      with 
black   or  white,  265,  267,  268, 
368-377.     See  Colours 
Yerkes,  C.  T.,    123 
Young,   Sir  Thomas,  374 

Z 

Zion,  hymn,  205 


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Sculpture,  and  Architecture.     Fully  illustrated.    8°      .      $2.50 

"  Marked  by  profound  thought  along  lines  unfamiliar  to  most  readers  and  thinkers.  .  .  . 
When  grasped,  however,  it  becomes  a  source  of  great  enjoymentand  exhilaration.  .  .  .  No 
critical  person  can  afford  to  ignore  so  valuable  a  contribution  to  the  art-thought  of  the 
day." — The  Art  Interchange  (N.  Y  ). 

One  does  not  need  to  be  a  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  teaches  while  seeming  to 
entertain,  for  he  does  both." — Burlington  Haiukeye. 

"  The  artist  who  wishes  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  color,  the  sculptor  who  desires  to 
cultivate  his  sense  of  proportion,  or  the  architect  whose  ambition  is  to  reach  to  a  high 
standard  will  find  the  work  helpful  and  inspiring." — Boston  Transcript. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS,    New  York  and  London 


POEMS  BY  PROF.  GEO.   L.   RAYMOND 

A  Life  in  Song.     i6°,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top  .  .         .     $1.25 

"  Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet,  with  all  that  tho  name  implies.  He  has  the  true  fire— there  is 
no  disputing  that.  There  is  thought  of  an  elevated  character,  the  diction  is  pure,  the 
versification  is  true,  the  metercorrect,  and  .  .  .  affords  innumerable  quotations  to  fortify 
and  instruct  one  for  the  struggles  of  life." — Hartford  Post. 

"  Marked  by  a  fertility  and  strength  of  imagination  worthy  of  our  first  poets.  .  .  .  The 
versification  throughout  is  graceful  and  thoroughly  artistic,  the  imagery  varied  and  spon- 
taneous, .  .  .  the  multitude  of  contemporary  bardlings  may  timl  in  its  sincerity  of  pur- 
pose and  loftiness  of  aim  a  salutary  inspiration." — The  Literary  World  (Boston). 

"Original  and  noble  thoughts,  gracefully  put  into  verse.  .  .  .  Mr.  Raymond  thoroughly 
understands  the  true  poet's  science,  man." — The  Literary  World  (London). 

"  Here,  for  instance,  are   lines  which,  if  printed  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  front  of 
pulpit,  and  practised  by  every  one  behind  one,  would  transform  the  face  of  the  theologii  ..1 
world.  ...   In  short,  if  you  are  in  search  of  ideas  that  are  unconventional  and  up-to-date, 
get  '  \  Life  in  Song,'  and  read  it."  —  Unity. 

"  The  poet  has 'a  burden'  as  conscious  and  urgent  as  the  prophet  of  old.  His  is  a 
'story  with  a  purpose,'  and  very  deftly  and  effectively  is  it  sung  into  the  ear  of  the  cap- 
tivated listener.  .  .  .  Wonderful  versatility  and  mastery  of  the  poetic  art  are  shown  in 
the  manipulation  of  speech  to  the  service  of  thought.  .  .  .  Professor  Raymond  has  re- 
vealed a  metrical  genius  of  the  highest  order  " — The  Watchman. 

"A  remarkably  line  study  of  the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  .  .  .  an 
American  modern  life.  ...  Is  not  only  dramatic  in  tendency,  but  is  singularly  realis- 
tic and  acute.  .  .  .  The  volume  will  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by  reason  of  its 
clear,  musical,  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human  interest." — Boston 
Transcript. 

Ballads,  and  Other  Poems.     i6°,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top      .         .         Si. 25 

"  Notable  examples  of  what  may  be  wrought  of  native  material  by  one  who  has  a  taste- 
ful ear  and  practised  hand.  .  .  .  There  is  true  enjoyment  in  all  that  he  has  written." — 
Boston  Globe. 

"A  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which  genuine  poetic  power  has  not  more  con- 
tributed than  wide  reading  and  extensive  preparation.  The  ballads  overflow,  not  only 
with  the  general,  but  with  the  very  particular  truths  of  history." — Cincinnati  Times. 

"A  work  of  true  genius,  brimful  of  imagination  and  sweet  humanity." — The  Fireside 
(London). 

"  Fine  and  strong,  its  thought  original  and  suggestive,  while  its  expression  is  the  very 
perfection  of  narrative  style.'  — The  N.  1*.  Critic. 

Proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond  is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is 
worthy  of  the  most  careful  and  conscientious  cultivation." — X.  )'.  Evening  Post. 

"A  very  thoughtful  study  of  character  .  .  .  great  knowledge  of  aims  and  motives.  .  .  . 
Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive  from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the  mere  pleasure  of 
the  moment." — The  Spectator  (London). 

"  Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  emphatically,  and  not  a  scribbler  in  rhyme." — Literary 
Churchman  (London). 

The  Aztec  God  and  Other  Dramas.      i6°,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top    .    Si. 25 

"  The  three  dramas  included  in  this  volume  represent  a  felicitous,  intense,  and  me- 
lodious expression  of  art  both  from  the  artistic  and  poetic  point  of  view.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Raymond's  power  is  above  all  that  of  psychologist,  and  added  thereto  are  the  richest 
products  of  the  imagination  both  in  form  and  spirit.  The  book  clearly  discloses  the  work 
of  a  man  possessed  of  an  extremely  refined  critical  poise,  of  a  culture  pure  and  classical, 
and  a  sensitive  conception  of  what  is  sweetest  and  most  ravishing  in  tone-quality.  The 
most  delicately  perceptive  ear  could  not  detect  a  flaw  in  the  mellow  and  rich  music  of  the 
blank  verse." — Public  Opinion. 

".  .  .  The  plot  is  exceedingly  interesting  and  well  executed.  .  .  .  It  is  careful 
work,  strong  and  thoughtful  in  its  conception.'  — Worcester  Spy. 

"As  fine  lines  as  are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  English.  .  .  .  Sublime  thought  fairly 
leaps  in  sublime  expression.  ...  As  remarkable  for  its  force  of  epigram  as  for  its 
loftiness  of  conception."  —  Cleveland  World. 

"  There  are  countless  quotable  passages  in  Professor  Raymond's  fine  verse.  .  .  . 
The  work  is  one  of  unusual  power  and  brilliancy,  and  the  thinker  or  the  student  of  liter- 
ature will  find  the  book  deserving  of  careful  study." — Toledo  Blade. 

"  .  .  .  'Columbus'  one  finds  a  work  which  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  injuring  with  ful- 
some praise.  The  character  of  the  great  discoverer  is  portrayed  grandly  and  greatly. 
.  .  .  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  anyone  who  cares  for  that  which  is  best  in  litera- 
ture    .     .     .     could  fail  to  be  strengthened  and  uplifted." — X.   Y.  Press. 

Dante  and  Poetry.     Just  issued.     16°,  cloth  extra,  gilt  top       .         $1.25 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London. 


OTHER  WORKS  BY  PROF.  GEO.   L.  RAYMOND 
The  Essentials  of  ./Esthetics.     8vo.     Illustrated        .         .    Net,  $2.50 

This  work,  which  is  mainly  a  compendium  of  the  author's  system  of  Comparative 
.(Esthetics,  previously  published  in  seven  volumes,  was  prepared,  by  request,  for  a  text- 
book, and  for  readers  whose  time  is  too  limited  to  study  the  minutix  of  the  subject. 

"We  consider  Professor  Raymond  to  possess  something  like  an  ideal  equipment.  .  .  . 
His  own  poetry  is  genuine  and  delicately  constructed,  his  appreciations  are  true  to  high 
ideals,  and  his  power  of  scientific  analysis  is  unquestionable.'  .  .  .  He  'l  was  known, 
when  a  student  at  Williams,  as  a  musician'and  a  poet — the  latter  because  of  taking,  in  his 
freshman  year,  a  prize  in  verse  over  the  whole  college.  After  graduating  in  this  country, 
he  went  through  a  course  of  aesthetics  with  Professor  Vischer  of  the  University  of  Tu- 
bingen, and  also  with  Professor  Curtius  at  the  time  when  that  historian  of  Greece  was 
spending  several  hours  a  week  with  his  pupils  among  the  marbles  of  the  Berlin  Museum. 
Subsequently,  believing  that  all  the  arts  are,  primarily,  developments  of  different  forms 
of  expression  through  the  tones  and  movements  of  the  body,  Professor  Raymond  made  a 
thorough  study,  chiefly  in  Paris,  of  methods  of  cultivating  and  using  the  voice  in  both 
singing  and  speaking,  and  of  representing  thought  and  emotion  through  postures  and 
gestures.  It  is  a  result  of  these  studies  that  he  afterwards  developed,  first,  into  his 
methods  of  teaching  elocution  and  literature"  (as  embodied  in  his  'Orator's  Manual' 
and  '  The  Writer ')"  and  later  into  hissesthetic  system.  .  .  .  A  Princeton  man  has  said 
of  him  that  he  has  as  keen  a  sense  for  a  false  poetic  element  as  a  bank  expert  for  a 
counterfeit  note ;  and  a  New  York  model  who  posed  for  him,  when  preparing  illustrations 
for  one  of  his  books,  said  that  he  was  the  only  man  that  he  had  ever  met  who  could 
invariably,  without  experiment,  tell  him  at  once  what  posture  to  assume  in  order  to  rep- 
resent any  required  sentiment." — New   York  Times. 

"  So  lucid  in  expression  and  rich  in  illustration  that  every  page  contains  matter  of  deep 
interest  even  to  the  general  reader." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Its  superior  in  an  effective  all-round  discussion  of  its  subject  is  not  in  sight." 

The  Outlook  (N.  Y.) 
"  Dr.  Raymond's  book  will  be  invaluable.    He  shows  a  knowledge  both  extensive  and 
exact  of  the  various  fine  arts  and  accompanies  his   ingenious  and  suggestive  theories  by 
copious  illustrations." — The  Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

Published  by  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  27  West  23d  St.,  New  York. 


The  Psychology  of  Inspiration.     8vo    ....         Net,  $1.40 

An  attempt  to  distinguish  Religious  from  Scientific  Truth  and  to  Harmonize  Chris- 
tianity with  Modern  Thought. 

Dr.  J.  Mark  Baldwin,  Professor  of  Psychology  in  John  Hopkins  University,  says  that 
its  psychological  position  is  "new  and  valuable  '  ;  Dr.  W.  T.  Harris,  late  United  States 
Commissioner  of  Education,  says  that  it  is  sure  "to  prove  helpful  to  many  who  find  them- 
selves on  the  borderline  between  the  Christian  and  the  non-Christian  beliefs"  ;  and  Dr. 
Edward  Everett  Hale  says  "no  one  has  approached  the  subject  from  this  point  of  view." 

"A  book  that  everybody  should  read.  .  .  .  medicinal  for  profest  Christians,  and 
full  of  guidance  and  encouragement  for  those  finding  themselves  somewhere  between  the 
desert  and  the  town.  The  sane,  fair,  kindly  attitude  taken  gives  of  itself  a  profitable  les- 
son. The  author  proves  conclusively  that  his  mind — and  if  his,  why  not  another? — can 
be  at  one  and  the  same  time  sound,  sanitary,  scientific,  and  essentially  religious." — The 
Examiner,  Chicago. 

"It  is,  we  think,  difficult  to  overestimate  the  value  of  this  volume  at  the  present  critical 
pass  in  the  history  of  Christianity." — The  Arena,  Boston. 

"  The  author  has  taken  up  a  task  calling  for  heroic  effort;  and  has  given  us  a  volume 
worthy  of  careful  study.      .      .      .      The  conclusion  is  certainly  very  reasonable." 

Christian  Intelligencer,  New  York. 

"  The  author  writes  with  logic  and  a  'sweet  reasonableness'  that  will  doubtless  con- 
vince many  halting  minds.      It  is  an  inspiring  book." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  Interesting,  suggestive,  helpful." — Boston  Congregationalist. 

"Thoughtful,  reverent,  suggestive." — Lutheran  Observer,  Philadelphia. 
Published  by  FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  COMPANY,  44  East  23d  St.,  New  York. 


The  Orators'  Manual,  a  Text-Book  of  Vocal  Culture  and 

Gesture     ...     in  constant  demand  for  years.       .  .     Net,  $1.12 

The  Speaker,  a  Collaborated  Text-Book  of  Oratory.  .  ,  Net,  $1.00 
The  Writer,  a  Collaborated  Text-Book  of  Rhetoric.  .  .  Net,  90  cts. 
Published  by  SILVER,  BURDETT  &  C  O  MP  A  NY,  231  West  39th  St.,  New  York. 


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